


The Prince and His Queen

by ScarletRaven1001



Category: Dragon Ball, Dragon Ball Z, Vegebul - Fandom
Genre: Comedy, Drabbles, F/M, Fluff, Inspired by Art, One Shot Collection, Prompt Fic, Random bursts of inspiration, Romance, Tumblr Prompt, Vegebul
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2019-05-19 00:40:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 26,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14863362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarletRaven1001/pseuds/ScarletRaven1001
Summary: A series of unrelated one-shots and drabbles based on various Tumblr and Discord prompts.Some fluff, some angst, a bit of action... but all Vegebul!Any applicable chapter warnings are on the individual chapter summaries.





	1. Faint

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The following stories are fan-made. All characters within, and the entire Dragon Ball series, are not mine.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You fainted…straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention you didn’t have to go to such extremes.”
> 
> For saraelee on Tumblr.

He was hotter than the desert sun.

Bulma stared, barely able to keep her drool under control as the most delectable member of the male species to have ever walked the planet strode calmly into her small electronic repair shop.

She was quite convinced that he was a god in disguise.

Piercing eyes in the darkest shade of ebony sat above a thin nose and plump lips. His face, punctuated by high, deeply-defined cheekbones, was edged by a sinfully sharp jawline. His riotous black hair held slightly reddish undertones, making the strands seem like flames rising above his head.

His body was narrow but absolutely _jacked_ , and she nearly keened as she watched the thick muscles of his arms flex beneath his tight sleeves.

His thick brows were furrowed, as was seemingly usual for him, and he walked with measured, light-footed steps towards the counter where she stood. She held her breath, hardly daring to move as the man’s eyes roved the shop, a hand in one pocket as the other clutched another broken mobile phone.

He seemed to go through those phones awfully quickly.

He had been in the store more than a few times, bringing phones usually ruined by strong blunt-force impact.

By the light sheen of sweat that typically covered him, making his already tight shirts stick deliciously to his well-formed chest, she surmised that he must be in a rather physical line of work that was more than a little harmful to small electronics in his pockets.

She smiled as he approached, pushing her chin-length blue hair away from her face as she willed her stupid heart to stop pounding so hard.

“Hello again, how may we be of service?” she asked, blue eyes wide and bright, and entirely unsurprised by how he refused to meet her gaze.

He seemed to basically ignore her whenever he came in, after all.

“Kakarot. Is he here?”

He was truly, very predictable.

“In the back. Let me just call him,” she said, before she turned, walking into the stockroom where she knew that her assistant, Goku, also known as Kakarot, was doing inventory.

“Goku,” she called softly, laughing slightly at the confounded look on his face as he compared stock numbers. “Your friend is here.”

“Oh, Vegeta?” he asked, carefully placing the items down before standing up. He shook his head, drawing the shaggy strands of his dark hair away from his face. “Lemme just go see what he wants.”

“I am pretty sure he broke another phone,” she chuckled.

Goku shook his head. “I’ve known Vegeta since High School. He was never this clumsy.”

“Well, accidents happen,” she answered, watching as Goku headed out to the main store to speak to the handsome man who was not-so-patiently waiting to be served.

Bulma hung back, snickering as she heard Goku give the man a bit of scolding on how bad he was with phones.

However, her interest was piqued when Vegeta answered Goku in a very low, urgent whisper.

Goku’s brows scrunched together, and he answered in a whisper that was not quite as soft and urgent.

“I told you *murmur* just ask her *murmur* coffee shop *murmur*…”

The rest of Goku’s sentence turned inaudible as the phone beside him started ringing, and Bulma walked out to the shop to pick it up.

The two men stopped talking as she spoke to another customer on the line, and as she ended the call, she realized that Goku was watching her, and the flame-haired hunk was, as always, looking anywhere but at her.

The silence was making Bulma uncomfortable, so she forced out a laugh, looking at both men in turn.

“This climate here is something else, isn’t it? It’s so hot! When I moved here from West City, I didn’t realize that the heat was gonna be so bad,” she said.

“ _Gee, Bulma. The weather? Really?_ That’s _your big ice-breaker?_ ” she thought to herself, mentally whacking her head against a wall.

“Bulma, it’s a desert. Of course it’s hot,” Goku answered.

Vegeta just glared at Goku.

Goku looked up at the other man, a bright smile on his face. “Hey Vegeta. I’m totally stumped about what to do with your phone. But Bulma here, she’s a genius, she can probably help you.”

Bulma stared at Goku in surprise, before she glanced at the shorter man who was glaring icy daggers at her employee.

Also… was it her imagination, or had Mr. Hotness Incarnate gone pale?

“Tch,” he spat out, and with neither a glance nor word to her, he spun on his heel, and stomped angrily out of the store, ruined phone still in hand.

She was shocked, but not shocked enough not to take notice of his perfectly rounded bum as he stormed away.

“What was that about?” Bulma blinked.

Goku just laughed. “Oh, he’s just shy, Bulma. He’s a nice guy.”

Bulma watched as Vegeta got into his car that was parked up front, his defined features more than _nice_ even from a distance.

She snickered. “I guess you’re right.”

8-8-8-8-8

When she moved to South City six months ago to start her small electronics business, she had known that it was a desert city, and that it was going to be hot.

Bulma had underestimated just how _sweltering_ it actually would be.

It was aggravated even more by the fact that the shop’s air-conditioning seemed to be stuttering.

At the moment, she was double-checking the items they had on display, and she reached out to grab a stool when she realized that the heat was making her nauseated.

Goku would not be coming in for his shift for two more hours, and Bulma felt her light-headedness worsen as she realized that she was in no condition to work that day.

She tried to stand again, thinking of reaching for her phone that she had placed on the counter, so she could ask him to come in earlier.

She had just made it to her feet, when she heard the store door swing open.

She turned to face the newcomer, but a surge of pure vertigo seized her, making her feel like her head had swollen to twice its size, and she stared in horror as everything seemingly tilted to the right, and rapidly rushed out of focus.

“Are you alright?” a familiar, deep voice asked from right beside her, and she caught a glimpse of plump lips and dark, narrowed eyes as she felt the world slip from beneath her feet.

“Ve- geta…” she managed to whisper right before everything faded to black.

8-8-8-8-8

Consciousness came back to her very slowly, and the first things she felt were the hard appendages wrapped around her torso in an iron-like grip.

She was too dizzy to struggle, not even as she felt the said things tighten, pulling her flush against an unyielding surface lined by firm warmth.

She blinked tired eyes, looking around her slowly as things gradually began to make sense...

She was on the floor, in her shop.

It was hot, but she had a small desk fan beside her, fanning cooler air onto her face.

The cage that surrounded her was of flesh, and she looked up in surprise as she realized that the warmth belonged to a man with thickly-defined muscles on his arms and chest, and a very striking face topped by rebellious flame-like hair.

“Vegeta?” she asked hoarsely, and she watched as his brows furrowed, before he let one of his arms fall away from her.

He had been holding her up, nestled against his chest, and he lifted his hand again, now holding an open bottle of water to her lips.

“Drink,” he said, his voice soft but authoritative, and Bulma gladly took a few gulps of the cold liquid before she closed her eyes against the remaining nausea.

“What… what happened?” she asked.

She felt a rumble shake his chest, and she glanced back at him to see his dark eyes narrow.

“You fainted. I pulled up that fan, then I got water from my car fridge to cool you down. I called Kakarot, he is on his way to pick up your shift.”

“Oh… thank you,” she said, smiling gratefully up at him.

She watched as his lips lifted up into a smirk.

“You fainted…straight into my arms. You know, woman… If you wanted my attention so much, you didn’t have to go to such extremes.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, indignation pouring out of every pore as she hissed, “Excuse me? I did not faint to get your attention! I can’t believe you, you’re such an asshole! Ow…” she cut herself off as a headache began to pound at the side of her head.

He was still smirking as she continued.

“Asshole. And here I thought you were cute-”

“I think you’re cute, too.”

All of Bulma’s thoughts ran into a screeching halt as she stared dumbly up at him. “Huh?”

She noted with mild amusement that his deeply reddened cheeks and wide eyes made it look like he was even more surprised by his words than _she_ was.

He flushed, stuttering. “I… I… What I meant was-”

“Bulma! Are you ok?” Goku’s voice cut into the moment, and Vegeta looked nearly constipated as they both watched the other man jog up to them.

“Jeez,” he said, kneeling beside Vegeta to look down at her. “You’re so pale! Good thing Vegeta dropped by.”

“Yeah,” she said meekly as she felt some of the dizziness fade away.

It did not escape her notice that she was still in Vegeta’s incredible arms.

“And I guess you finally spoke to each other, then!”

Vegeta suddenly straightened, pulling slightly away from her. “Kakarot, I shall take her home. Woman, you will give me directions.”

She just nodded as he helped her stand up, and she swayed slightly, holding on to the side of her heavy head as Vegeta wrapped an arm around her waist to steady her.

She held onto him as well, and she nearly fainted again at the feel of the amazing muscles around his abdomen.

He helped her take small steps forward, and they were almost at the door when Goku spoke up again.

“Vegeta! This is great! You can finally stop breaking your phones on purpose just to come see her!”

She heard Vegeta choke, before he turned around to face Goku with a snarl on his lips.

“Kakarot would you shut the hell up?!” he yelled.

Bulma just gaped.

He… broke his phones… so he could see her?

Goku was grinning from ear to ear. “Bulma, I told you he was just shy. But don’t worry, he’s an engineer who owns a contracting firm, he can afford the phones.”

Bulma hid her grin behind a hand as she tightened her arm around Vegeta.

She could barely believe it.

The guy she had been crushing on, for weeks, seemed to like her, too.

They made their way to his car, where Vegeta strapped her into the front passenger seat.

He was still completely red in the face, and Bulma smiled as he walked into the driver’s side, and tensely asked for directions to her house.

She began to feel better in the cool air-conditioning of his – rather expensive – car, and she sat back as she pointed him to the right direction.

As they drove, she thought back to the conversation that she had almost overheard between Goku and Vegeta.

_“I told you *murmur* her out *murmur* coffee shop *murmur*…”_

And she imaginatively filled in the blanks as they approached her place.

_“I told you, just ask her out. Take her to the coffee shop nearby.”_

By the time they reached the small bungalow that she called home, Bulma had made up her mind.

He got out of the car, helping her down as well, and slowly walked her to her front door.

She fumbled for the keys in her pocket, and as she stuck the key in the lock, she turned to face him again.

“Are you going to be alright?” he asked, brows furrowed in concern.

“Yes. Thank you so much for your help,” she said, smiling up at him as brightly as she can.

He flushed, nodded, then reached into his pocket, pulling out a small card.

He handed the card to her. “My number. Call me if you need anything.”

She held the calling card to her chest as she watched him turn to walk away.

“Hey, Vegeta?”

He paused.

“Would you…” she began, feeling heat rush into her cheeks. “Would you like to get coffee sometime?”

He turned back to her, a small grin lifting the sides of his lips even as the deep blush remained on his cheeks.

He nodded. “Just make sure not to faint on me again.”

She grinned back. “Deal.”

8-8-8-8-8


	2. Blossom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 40 - “Have I entered an alternate universe or did you really just crack a smile for me?”
> 
> A 3-year-gap fluffy Vegebul one-shot for prompt #40, requested by heeyyy-macarena and tsukisilverwolf on Tumblr.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hey look! Another fluff fic!  
> I hope you all like it!

Living with a Saiyan was hard.

The next time Bulma saw Chichi, she was gonna give that woman a full-on spa day and a trophy.

Then again, perhaps it was living with _Vegeta in particular_ that was hard.

She watched somberly as the said man devoured a table-full of roast dinosaur, and thought back to how Goku normally ate just as much.

Quite possibly... It wasn’t just Vegeta, then.

She would get Chichi a fully-paid spa membership. For a year. She had earned it.

Her thoughts drifted away from the promise of spa days when the flame-haired Saiyan stood up from the now-empty dining table. He let out a soft, nearly inaudible belch, before he marched out of the dining room, heading straight for his training room.

No. _Her_ training room, that _he_ was _borrowing._

He walked past her with nary a word nor a glance, as if she was some insignificant insect not worthy of his royal presence.

Jerk.

She really didn’t understand why it was so impossible for the alien to be sociable, when she was going out of her way to be accommodating to him.

Bulma pulled off her head band, which had been sliding off her head, and gathered up her thick blue curls to secure them behind the thick strip of cloth once again.

She should really get back to her experiments, but she was so _bored_.

She was a free woman, having broken up with Yamcha a few weeks ago. The relationship had become too stagnant, too relaxed, and it was with a heart full of dread that she realized that whatever romance had been between them had truly, finally, fizzled out.

She should be out, celebrating her status as a single woman, but instead, she was at home, moping about her Saiyan house guest who didn’t give half a damn about her existence.

And here she thought they had made progress, after she nursed him back to health when the gravity room explosion messed him up.

With a heavy sigh, Bulma stood, intending on heading to her father’s lab a ways away from the main Capsule Corp building, hoping to pick his brains for something to do.

She stepped out into the sunlight as she exited the main door, taking slow, leisurely steps through their expansive garden.

It was as she was strolling through her mother’s flower garden that she noticed something out of place, a thick figure casting a dark shadow upon the bright yellow and orange tulips.

She walked towards the form, and though her eyes could tell from afar exactly who it was that was just idly standing among the blossoms, her mind seemed to struggle to catch up.

The muscular, compact stature, with the gravity-defying black hair and defiant stance, was absolutely unmistakable.

Bulma was only a few steps away when he turned slightly, regarding her almost reluctantly out of the corner of his eye.

She stood beside him, turning her gaze in the direction where he was looking, and she was rather confused to find that there was truly nothing remarkable at all in the flowers that caught his attention.

She decided to be the first to break the silence.

“I thought you were already in the training room, Vegeta,”she said softly, not wanting to disturb the strangely peaceful air surrounding them.

“Hmm,” he nodded. “I had been on my way.”

“Something here caught your eye?” she asked, smiling slightly.

She was expecting him to shrug and walk off, but instead, he turned to her, and she was surprised by the wistful look she found on his stern face.

She was certainly not expecting his gaze to lift up to the mildly overcast sky, before speaking in the gentlest tone she had ever heard from his gruff, throaty voice.

“I… I remember, back on Vegeta-sei,” he began, and Bulma’s heart pounded in anticipation as she realized that the unimaginable was about to happen…

Vegeta was opening up to her.

“I never met my mother. And my father was the king,” he said. “We never had time to speak of frivolities such as the memories of those who have passed.”

He turned his skyward gaze back down to the tulips.

“But he always had a large pot of blossoms of a similar shade to these,” he said, a soft edge to his normally piercing eyes. “And shortly before I was given to Frieza, I learned that he had kept those for her, in remembrance. Those potted blossoms were all I ever knew of my mother.”

Bulma stood stunned.

It was such an unbelievably intimate memory, and she felt her throat catch as she realized that it was very likely that he had never shared these thoughts with anyone before.

Only her.

It was a stunning reminder that Vegeta, aloof as he may be, was still a just a _man_ , with complicated thoughts and feelings… no matter how deeply he may attempt to bury them at most times.

She swallowed, stilling the tears that gathered in her eyes as she kept her gaze on him.

“Well… there are a lot more of those flowers. I could…” she took a deep breath. “I could put some in a pot, and take them to your room for you, if you want.”

His eyes narrowed in thought, before he looked up at her, his deep gaze boring into her blue eyes.

“That… will not be necessary,” he muttered.

Bulma’s eyes then widened in disbelief when, right before her eyes, she watched the corners of his lips turn marginally upward, into the smallest, barest hint of a smile.

It was a near imperceptible gesture, and she was blown away by how that tiny grin had managed to completely steal all of her breath away.

He was… handsome.

She never really paid it any mind, before.

The sudden realization made her heart race in her chest and her blood rise to her cheeks, and she cleared her throat, flustered.

She needed to lighten things up.

In spite of the tiny shivers than ran up and down her spine at the sight of his beautiful face looking at her the way he was, she smirked, pulling out her cocky, albeit false, bravado.

“Have I entered an alternate universe or did you really just crack a smile for me?” she joked, moving forward to teasingly poke his chest with her finger.

With his lightning speed, he grabbed her hand as the tip of her thin digit touched his skin, making her gasp.

“Perhaps,” he smirked back, and she thought she felt his hand around hers linger… just a second too long… before he released her.

He turned, then took off into the sky, and before Bulma could even pull her hand to her chest to still her rapid heartbeats, Vegeta was nothing but a mere speck in the sky.

Bulma smiled to herself, unexpectedly giddy, tightly clutching the hand that he had held, against her breast.

And she thought then, that maybe…

Just maybe… living with Saiyans wasn’t that hard, after all.

8-8-8-8-8


	3. Greenish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 05 - “Wait a minute. Are you jealous?”
> 
> A post-Buu saga one-shot for promtpt #5, requested by heeyyy-macarena and venitia89 on Tumblr.

 

Chichi was surprisingly interesting.

Vegeta supposed, that he could now understand what Kakarot had seen in the very simple and rather excitable female.

He had never really spoken to her before. He never made it a habit to speak to women, never mind women that belonged to his _rivals._

However, Gohan, the little smartass, had told him that on Earth, it was customary to be on somewhat friendly terms with their significant other’s friends, and from what he could see, Chichi was Bulma’s most usual companion.

He had been discretely trying to be a more accommodating husband ever since the Buu fiasco, and he supposed that the rather intelligent son of Kakarot may have been on to something.

Thus, when the dark-haired housewife had sat down on a chair near him while they were in Capsule Corp for a backyard picnic, he cleared his throat, and stupidly floundered around for something to say.

To say that Chichi had been shocked, would have been an understatement.

He smelled her surprise that bordered on distress, and he had almost abandoned his attempt to be sociable when she smiled and said something back.

It was not long before he realized that Gohan’s brain may have been passed down from this lady, since it _clearly_ was not from Kakarot.

She had home-schooled her son and somehow turned him into a boy who was at the top of his class. He had to applaud her for that.

She was smart, rather amusing, and had an acceptable knowledge of fighting techniques.

Also, she had once pushed Kakarot off a floating cloud. That was hilarious.

“… and so, I told Goku-sa that unless he cleaned up the whole place, he was not getting any dinner. And I tell ya, I have never seen the house so spotless before!” Chichi laughed.

Vegeta smirked. “Good. Let him earn his keep. I, personally, work for Bulma as a _Product Tester_ , as she calls it.”

Chichi blinked. “Really? I had no idea, Vegeta-san.”

“It is not common knowledge,” he answered. “And it is not a difficult job. All I need to do is try to break things or stay standing after missile blasts. I find it rather enjoyable.”

The dark-haired woman sighed. “I wish I could get Goku-sa to keep a stable job.”

“Perhaps you could find something that is closer to his natural skills,” he said. “Something that is related to fighting.”

“Or eating!”

Vegeta threw his head back, releasing a throaty laugh. Chichi laughed loudly along with him, hand on her chest as her giggles rose up.

As his laughter subsided, Vegeta looked up, and saw, from somewhere off to the side, that his lovely wife was standing still, watching him with her large blue eyes as he spoke to her friend.

He gave her a smirk.

However, he was rather surprised when she didn’t smile back as she usually did, and only turned away, handing Trunks another slab of barbeque.

Odd.

8-8-8-8-8

It was late in the evening, and all of their guests had already gone home.

For the very first time, Vegeta found that he actually had a pleasant time at an Earth gathering, but at the end of the day, all he truly wanted was to have his wife to himself again.

He had showered, and now he sat up in bed, waiting for Bulma to finish washing up so they could go to sleep.

Or… possibly… go to bed and _not_ sleep.  

She emerged from their bathroom, short blue hair still damp, soft cheeks flushed from the hot water of her bath.

He stared up at her as she moved to their cabinets, and she quickly pulled out some comfy underwear and a pair of her thick, white pajama sets, before she walked to the changing screen to dress up.

His brows furrowed.

Something felt… off.

He couldn’t quite put a finger on what it was, but even though her motions appeared normal, Vegeta had a sneaking suspicion that there was something wrong with Bulma.

He kept a neutral front up as she walked out from behind the screen, and watched as she quietly sat on the bed, fluffing up her pillow and pulling her sheets up before she laid down.

Without a word. With her back facing him.

His brows furrowed further, until he was sure that his thick eyebrows had probably merged into one thick black line at the center of his forehead.

Something was up.

He needed to tread lightly.

“Oi. Bulma,” he called.

She just sighed deeply. “Good night, Vegeta.”

 What in the universe was wrong with Bulma?

 “Are you alright?” he asked, concern mixing in with his confusion.

“Yes. Go to sleep.”

Now he was worried.

“No. Something is wrong. You are usually much chattier than this before we go to sleep,” he said.

He watched as her shoulders turned rigid, one hand curling into the blanket where it lay upon the side of her hip.

“Well why don’t you fly off and ask _Chichi_ to chat with you?” she hissed.

Vegeta was even more confused now.

“Kakarot’s wife? Why would I want _her_ to…”

Vegeta trailed off, eyes wide in stunned disbelief.

Could it possibly be…?

“Wait a minute,” he muttered, astonishment coloring his every syllable. “Bulma… Are you _jealous_?”

“No.”

Her single-word answer, and the speed with which she replied, told him otherwise.

“You are!” he accused, eyes narrowing as he smirked in delight. “You are jealous! Do not even try to deny it, woman.”

“I am _not-”_

“Bulma, I have lived with you for a decade,” he said. “We have a _son._ Do you honestly think that I do not know you well-enough to tell when you are lying?”

She harrumphed, before she pointedly shifted so that her back remained facing him, and her face was nearly buried in her pillow.

Vegeta grinned menacingly.

This was going to be _fun._

“Oi. Bulmaaa,” he nagged, darkly delighted at this interesting development. “Admit it, you are jealous of Kakarot’s woman.”

She ignored him.

“Why are you jealous? Come now, was it not you who told me,” he paused, before adopting a higher pitched tone, mimicking her as best as he could. “ _Vegeta, you can’t ignore everyone all the time. We need to talk, Vegeta! Vegeta, you’re so quiet, you’re such a snob! Vege-”_

“Alright!” she yelled, finally rolling over, before she sat up to face him head on. “I got jealous. Happy now?”

“Why? She is Kakarot’s wife,” he asked, genuinely confounded.

Bulma’s cheeks turned red as she met his gaze.

“It’s stupid,” she pouted

Vegeta smirked. “If it was so stupid, it would not bother you so much. Come now, woman, tell me,” he said, as his smirk widened into a full-blown evil grin. “Before your hair adopts that permanently greenish tint.”

Bulma twiddled her thumbs together, a gesture that Vegeta found strangely endearing. “You were talking for an hour. _An hour,_ Vegeta. And you were both laughing so much. And I remembered how long it took me to get you to even smile at me, and to see you so relaxed, so quickly...”

He rolled his eyes. “You do realize that the only reason I even spoke to her was for you, do you not?”

It seemed to be Bulma’s turn to be confused. “Huh?”

“I was told that it was preferable here on Earth for spouses to be on pleasant terms with each other’s acquaintances,” he explained. “I saw that Chichi was one of your closest ones, and so I decided to speak to her. Was I… Was I mistaken, then?”

Bulma’s cheeks suddenly lost their angry red hue at his words. “You… you did it… for me?”

“Of course,” he scoffed. “Have you ever known me to actively seek out conversation? I did it because I did not want you to _look bad,_ as you say when I behave inappropriately.”

“You did something you are uncomfortable with… for me?” she whispered, her eyes now wide and slightly watery, making Vegeta panic.

He raised his hands in a placating manner. “Woman, do not even think of shedding tears at this. I have _died_ for you and Trunks… _this_ was truly nothing.”

“I’m sorry, Vegeta,” Bulma sniffled, reaching out to hold him.

He felt her wrap her arms around his neck as she buried her face onto his chest, and he lifted a hand to place it onto her head, gently stroking her hair.

“I feel terrible. You were just trying to do something for me, and I was being stupid about it. I’m sorry.”

“Forgiven. I understand,” he said softly, before a grin snaked onto his lips again. “After all, if I were a woman who had managed to land a man as irresistible as myself, I would be insecure, as well.”

She pulled back at that, lightly slapping his chest in irritation, making him laugh heartily at the annoyed look on her face.

“Vegeta, I’m serious!” she cried. “I’m sorry.”

He smirked. “You truly need not ever be jealous, Bulma. You are my wife, and the only one I would ever think of sharing intimacy with. Besides, believe me, Chichi is the last woman you should ever be jealous of.”

“Why is that?”

“That woman and I are very much alike. We would likely clash in a horrifying way. We are both fighters, both born into royalty and now have no lands or subjects to speak of. She is an ambitious woman who had given up on many of her dreams as she found her place with her family, as I have forsaken thoughts of universal domination in favor of settling down here on Earth with you and Trunks,” he explained. “And above all… she is _Kakarot’s wife_.”

Bulma winced. “When you put it that way, I feel even worse for being jealous.”

He sighed. “Woman, if you ever think about feeling jealous once again, remember this…”

She stared intently at him as he held her by the arms, making sure that he had her full attention as he spoke.

“Bulma,” he began. “I would fight the gods themselves for you. You are the only woman I would ever choose to be with. I have eyes for no one else. And I shall never seek to be with anyone else.”

Her lips trembled slightly, before she smiled… a beautiful, bright smile that lit up the room with its vibrancy, making Vegeta realize once again that he truly had, somehow, managed to find the one woman who had been made especially for him.

She was perfect. And he would never, ever forget that.

Bulma leaned forward to wrap him into another hug, her grip tight and secure as she breathed onto the skin of his neck.

“I love you,” she murmured.

“Hn,” he replied as he wrapped his arms around her waist.

He felt her leave a soft kiss on his shoulder, and he grinned as he felt another… and another…

“So, Vegeta…” she murmured against his skin, and he felt her touch change from its earlier warm comfort into a sizzling caress.

Her fingers trailed along his shoulders as she leaned up, and he hissed when he felt her teeth nibble along the shell of his ear.

“How about I show you _exactly_ how sorry I am for today?” she whispered seductively.

Vegeta grinned.

Perhaps, he should speak to Bulma’s friends more often.

8-8-8-8-8


	4. Wake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 20 – “You need to wake up because I can’t do this without you.”  
> A Mirai/Future timeline Vegebul one-shot for prompt #20, requested by iidragonballsii on Tumblr.  
> Chapter Warnings: Angst; Death and violence; Major character death; Slight sexual content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried hard to keep all the one-shots on this series fluffy and sweet, but this prompt… I just got so many feels from this prompt. This is going to be angsty, but I do hope you like it!

Bulma couldn’t quite understand how it had all gone so wrong.

When she had been young, she had ventured out on her own on an impulsive whim, to search for some mythical magic balls that could grant any wish to anyone who could collect them.

It was then, that she had met Son Goku, an innocent young boy who would grow up to be the Earth’s greatest savior and protector.

He had defeated armies, demon lords and aliens, and he had always come back with a grin, an enthusiastic thumbs-up that told them that it would all be alright… he had saved the world once again.

He did not deserve to die the way he did…

He had been felled by a stubborn heart virus that not even she had managed to stave off, her brilliant mind rendered useless by the advanced stage of the disease, a disease that not even Shenron, the mighty god within the Dragon Balls, could reverse.

And now…

She looked out her window at the dark sky, a chaotic inky expanse that had become permanently overcast ever since the two Androids had shown up, only a few months after Son-kun’s demise.

All of the Earth’s greatest fighters had done everything they could to stop them, but with the Androids’ unbelievable power and endless supply of energy, all of their efforts had been for naught.

Bulma had been helpless as everything she knew… everything she had… had been crushed beneath the force of their destruction.

Even the Dragon Balls were gone.

Yamcha had fallen to them as if he were nothing more than a toy, and her heart bled as she thought back to how his last words to her had been of utter spite, when he found her belly rounded with another man’s child a scant few months after they had parted ways.

He had known, he said.

He had known, that it was only a matter of time before she welcomed Vegeta into her arms, her bed…

Her heart.

Vegeta…

He now stood as one of the final two warriors, the last line of defense that the Earth had against the Androids. Only he and Gohan remained, and with every minute, every second that he was not near, she feared endlessly for his welfare.

Bulma knew him well enough by then to know, that if his pride was at stake, he would never back down.

Not at the cost of his own life.

Not at the cost of her, and the little, purple-haired child that they had brought into this dark and dreary world.

It had been a dark and rainy night when he had first come to her. He was desolate, seeking purpose in a world that was not his own.

She had embraced him, and before she could make sense of the rapid beating of her heart within her chest, he was with her, in her… and the dark night melted into day as they melded with each other so tightly, that she could barely tell where she ended and he began.

They came together nearly nightly, and she was not even truly surprised when one day, the nausea had suddenly overtaken her without warning, and she quickly realized that she was pregnant.

Trunks… Her pride and joy…

And Vegeta’s only remaining legacy, in a universe where his kind had all but ceased to exist.

The purple-haired boy was crying uncontrollably, and Bulma knew that the child was most likely crying out for his father. She tried desperately to comfort him as she herself needed some warmth, as the lightning screeching across the sky filled her with a sense of foreboding, the likes of which she had never felt before.

It did not help that before he had left her the previous night to go on another hunt for the Androids, Vegeta had been cryptic, evasive…

8-8-8-8-8

“ _The world will not stand still for us, Bulma,” he said, pointedly facing away from her as she kneeled on the bed, desperately asking him to stay with her until morning. “There will be more death, and I will not lie in wait while the Androids seek to destroy everything. I need to go.”_

_“And what about me? What about Trunks?!” she yelled, her tears cascading down her cheeks and into her lips. “Why can’t we just_ go, _Vegeta? Why do you need to fight? We can leave-”_

_“And have them hunt us down like animals for sport?”_

_“No!” she wailed. “Maybe we can go off-planet. Keep running, hide away.”_

_“I am a Saiyan, Bulma!” he yelled, finally turning to face her as he roughly pulled his tattered gloves onto his hands. “I won’t run. And I can’t let-“_

_He cut himself off, and Bulma needed to know what he was going to say._

_“You can’t let, what, Vegeta?”_

_He stared at her, his dark, haunted eyes boring into her frightened blue orbs._

_“I can’t… I can’t lose everything. Not again.”_

_“I don’t understand,” she whispered._

_“I won’t let them harm you, or the boy, Bulma. Not for as long as there is breath within me,” he walked closer to her, before he raised his hands, and fervently cupped her cheeks within his palms._

_“You… and Trunks,” he continued, his lips brushing painfully against hers. “You need to live.”_

8-8-8-8-8

Thunder cracked, wrenching her from her memories, and she started when amidst the storm, she heard a soft, shallow knock upon her front door.

She stood slowly, carefully, and walked towards the door with her wailing infant son in her arms.

“Who’s there?” she asked.

A beat… and then…

“Bulma-san,” Gohan’s choked voice came from outside the door.

She ran up, yanking the door open, alarmed at the melancholy tone of his words.

“Gohan!” she cried, kneeling before him to inspect him for wounds.

He had a long scratch marring his young face, but he looked more or less unscathed.

“Gohan, are you alright?” she asked him, even as she glanced behind him, looking for another shock of thick black hair that ought to be just out of sight. “Where’s Vegeta?”

The boy shook, a loud, choked sob coming from the depths of his chest, and Bulma stilled, refusing to understand his actions.

“Where is Vegeta, Gohan?” she whispered, a tremulous shake gnawing at the edge of her words.

“Bulma-san,” he sobbed, and Bulma stood, enraged.

“Where is Vegeta, Gohan?!” she asked again. “Where is he?!”

“Bulma-san… I’m so sorry…”

And with those words… and the words that he didn’t say… Bulma understood.

An overwhelming numbness filled her, and it took an insurmountable amount of effort for her to be able to keep holding Trunks with the way her arms suddenly felt heavier than lead.

She didn’t hear her son’s cries… didn’t see the rain pelting the hardened ground beyond her front door.

All she wanted to see was Vegeta.

She wanted… _needed_ to see for herself.

“Take me to him.”

Gohan shook his head violently.

“No. His final words to me were to keep you alive. I’m not taking you out there-”

“Please…” she whispered. “I need to see him.”

The young half-Saiyan stared glumly at her, before he made up his mind, and flew up to take both her and Trunks into his arms.

“He… he suffered, Bulma. I left his body behind because you weren’t supposed to see him. You won’t like what you see.”

“I know,” she said, choking back the nausea at the thoughts of what she may find. “But I need to see him. I need to, Gohan.”

It seemed like countless hours had passed before they landed in the middle of a devastated battlefield, and Bulma’s eyes immediately spotted a small lump covered with a dirty, white blanket, placed carefully beneath a small awning that kept it from being touched by the wetness of the oncoming storm.

“I tried to cover him up… It was the least I could do…” Gohan said, though she barely heard him…

That… that lump… that was him…

That was Vegeta…

That was _her_ Vegeta.

She walked slowly towards him, and as she finally came upon his body, she kneeled down, clutching her impossibly still baby with one hand, and gently peeling the cloth away from his form with the other.

She was not prepared to acknowledge that he was gone…

But the sight of his closed eyes, mouth parted slightly, as dried blood trailed down from his lips to the sides of his neck…

Bulma was not prepared for the onslaught of pain that seemingly razed her from the inside out, as she gazed at his lifeless face.

Her heart stopped, and the tears burned heavily at her eyes as she caressed his cheek with the back of her hand.

She didn’t pull the blanket any further down, as she could already see the edges of the gaping hole in his torso, where his heart used to be.

His heart, which had beat rapidly against hers countless times, as they laid within the safety of her bedroom.

She lifted his hand, which had once held hers so tightly, which had cupped her cheeks so sweetly as he planted deep kisses upon her mouth.

Her gaze travelled back up to his face, and she leaned down, brushing her lips against his, her heart shattering at the coldness that she felt against her mouth.

She never even knew when the tears had started falling, but she did know that somewhere between her painful disbelief, and the resignation of her acceptance that he was truly gone, Bulma had placed Trunks down beside her and begun to cry, and now she was wracked by deep, shuddering sobs and shrieks as she helplessly leaned down to gather his form within her arms.

He felt so slight in her embrace, and it felt so _wrong,_ because Vegeta was powerful, he was invincible, he was always so full of life…

It wasn’t supposed to be possible, that he would just be _dead._

“Vegeta!” she screamed, not caring in the least if the Androids heard and descended upon them.

“Vegeta, no! No, no, no…” she cried, burying her face in his blood-soaked chest. “No… why couldn’t we have just run away? Why? Dammit, Vegeta… _why_?”

Her chest hurt, her heart hurt… and she couldn’t stop asking herself…

Why?

What was she supposed to do now?

How could she go on?

Trunks was pulling at Vegeta’s arms as well, and he too had begun to cry as he realized that his father was not moving to hold his hand or place his hand upon his head. 

And Bulma cried as she thought of how he would never see their son grow up… Would never get to train him in the ways of the Saiyans…

Trunks was shaking Vegeta now, and Bulma watched as he tried to climb over his father the way he usually did when he wanted Vegeta to wake up.

But… he wasn’t going to wake up, not anymore…

“Dammit, Vegeta,” she whispered, voice hoarse from her crying. “Won’t you wake up? For Trunks? For me?”

She wiped her eyes, wanting to see him clearly in these last few moments that she would have him in her arms.

“You need to wake up, Vegeta…” she said, loneliness singeing her as she watched Trunks clamor for his father.  “You need to wake up, because I can’t do this without you.”

It was then, that she heard it…

_“You can…”_

She straightened, looking around her.

Was that... was that Vegeta’s voice?

“Vegeta?” she asked softly.

_“You can… you will… you must.”_

Try as she might, she could not find where his voice had come from, and Bulma stared into nothingness as she debated on whether or not she was hallucinating, or if she truly heard him speak to her from the other world.

She decided that she preferred to think that it was truly him.

She looked down at his face, leaving one last kiss upon his lips, before she laid him down and picked up the edges of the blanket.

“If you are listening, Vegeta…” she whispered, forcing out a small smile that trembled with the force of her agony.

“If you are still there… Vegeta… I will do everything I can. I will find a way… I will never lose hope…”

She pulled Trunks to her with one hand, as her other lingered with the blanket that she was pulling up his chest to cover him once again.

“I love you. And someday, when we meet again… I will finally say it to you.”

And as she covered his face with the blanket, Bulma stood with firm resolution.

Vegeta wasn’t supposed to die.

She will find a way to save him, to save all of them.

For him… she would persevere.

For him, she would never lose hope.

8-8-8-8-8


	5. Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 29 – “I thought you were dead.”  
> A post-Buu Vegebul one-shot for prompt #29, requested by @saiyanprincessbulma on Tumblr.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some angsty fluff for you all. I hope you like it!

It was as if nothing had happened.

When Vegeta returned after the defeat of evil Buu, Bulma was so relieved to have him back that she had simply grinned at him with a wink and a thumbs-up.

She welcomed him back with open arms, no questions asked.

She didn’t even want to bring up the Majin incident… how he had destroyed half an arena of people with barely a thought, and how he had sought to abandon her and their son for a few minutes of glory in a no-holds-barred fight against Son Goku.

How, in that powerful blast that destroyed hundreds of people, he had nearly killed her, too.

It was too painful to remember, so she decided that it was something that she needed to forget.

After all… it was all in the past, and past aches had no place in their future together.

However, it was during quiet and happy moments with him that the thoughts _did_ resurface, and she stubbornly pushed them back, not wanting to deal with them.

She had no idea why that always happened… after all, if those thoughts were to bother her again, shouldn’t they show up when things were _not_ going well? When she was upset with him, or when he had done something stupid or inconsiderate?

But no… the memories of his darkly rimmed eyes and feral grin usually filled her mind while she watched Vegeta become an increasingly better father to Trunks, while he embraced her gently in his arms, or while he moved in ways that proved to her that _yes_ , beneath all the pomp and arrogance, was a wonderful man who had a lot of love to give, but not much of an idea of how to give it.

The memories assailed her again as she watched Vegeta perform simple katas out on the Capsule Corp lawn, flanked by Trunks, who copied his father’s movements with increasing ease every day.

Bulma was sitting on their large balcony overlooking the grounds, happily gazing at the land and at her two beautiful Saiyans.

She smiled as she gazed at their faces that were focused on the next set of movements, the sweat on Vegeta’s bare back and on Trunks’ shirt a testament to their hard work.

They were becoming more and more inseparable every day, and their son was truly mirroring his father in more than just their faces.

Trunks practically _was_ Vegeta, from his cockiness to his fiercely competitive nature.

Vegeta had extended his right arm sideward in a quick jab, and suddenly, Bulma was held hostage by the terrifying memory of him pointing that arm towards the audience stands and firing an unforgiving blast of ki at the unsuspecting onlookers.

She remembered the gust of wind that followed his attack, the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach as she looked at the face of a man that she thought she knew so well… and realized that perhaps, she didn’t truly know him after all.

She shuddered, the tremors going up and down her body as the dread rose up in her once again.

Vegeta’s sudden movement caught her eyes, and she looked up from her somber musings to see that he had stopped his movements, and had turned to her.

Even from a distance, she could see him eyeing her questioningly, and she waved back at him in answer, pasting a smile onto her lips so he wouldn’t see the true turmoil within her mind.

She should have known, that her efforts to hide her distress would have been futile.

8-8-8-8-8

Bulma was in the bathroom, applying her late night creams to her face, when she heard a soft knock at the door.

“Bulma?” Vegeta’s voice called. “Are you alright?”

She smiled. Vegeta had taken to checking in on her frequently since the Buu incident, and it was her surest sign, the only verbal indication he had ever given, that he really cared about her.

“I’ll be out in a minute, Vegeta,” she called, finishing up with her face oils before she stepped out of the cold bathroom and into their warmer bedroom.

She flipped her short blue hair back from her eyes, casting her eyes around until she found Vegeta standing by the large glass walls.

He was staring out into the night sky, his black hair casting a shadow that looked like dark flames against their light marble floors. His perfect profile was illuminated by the lights from the outside, his tall nose a dramatic slope from his high, well-defined cheekbones and the firm set of his jaw.

Her husband was an incredible sight to behold, and Bulma stomped back the carnal desire that already rose up in her at the mere glimpse of his perfectly-defined arms and chest.

 Vegeta turned to her then, and Bulma found the questions in his eyes before he even began to speak.

He took a deep breath, letting it out in a barely audible huff .

“If I asked you a question right now, would you promise to tell me the truth?” he asked.

Her eyes widened.

This… this was about to be a serious discussion.

She nodded, and he took another deep breath.

“Bulma…” he began, and he looked straight into her deep blue eyes as he went on. “Do you fear me?”

She stiffened, shaking her head. “No. I don’t fear you right now, Vegeta.”

“Right now,” he muttered, before he turned away from her to look out the window once more.

“Not right now,” he said, more loudly. “And what of other times?”

“Vegeta…”

“Have your feelings for me changed since the day I let myself be used by Babidi?”

Bulma gasped, a hand flying to her mouth as she unconsciously took a step back.

“No… Never,” she said earnestly, as her hands fell to her sides to grasp at the thin material of her sleeping gown. “I love you.”

“But a part of you has begun to fear me since then?” he asked, eyes narrowing as he stared sightlessly out the windows.

“Vegeta…” she choked out, taking a step toward him, one hand lifting as if to reach for him. “I… I don’t fear you. I promise.”

“Then why do I sense your terror whenever I hold you near?” he hissed, his eyes flashing back to stare accusingly into hers. “Why do I feel your fear whenever I lead Trunks off to train him?”

“Vegeta, I am not afraid of you! I-”

“Don’t _lie_ to me, Bulma!” he yelled, and she froze, watching a thousand and one emotions battle for dominance on his agonized face.

He stepped towards her, and she took another step backwards as he came upon her, looming over her as his eyes shone suspiciously in the darkness.

“Even now, you move away from me,” he spat. “Even as you stand here claiming not to fear me, I can feel it. I can _smell_ it.”

She straightened, determined to stand up to him. “I am not afraid of you, Vegeta.”

“Yes you are,” he insisted. “Your very bones shake in my presence. Admit it. You fear me-”

“I fear _for_ you!” she finally screamed, and she stood stunned as, with the words, came a very sudden moment of clarity.

She feared _for_ Vegeta.

The reasons why she had the sudden flashbacks to that most agonizing memory of Vegeta under Babidi’s control, suddenly made sense.

“Tch,” he said. “You fear for me? Woman, I am the most powerful man on this planet. What would you have to fear for me?”

She looked down, her hands balled into tight fists, as her eyes began to blur with tears.

“I thought you were dead,” Bulma whispered, voice hoarse from the torrent of emotions washing over her as she spoke.

Vegeta stilled before her.

“I thought you were _really_ dead. Not ever coming back,” she said, louder, and she continued to look away from him, unable to meet his gaze as she finally confessed the doubts she had held in her heart since that fateful day.

“I thought of how you looked as you killed those people, and how that side of you was the last thing I had seen before I lost you forever. I didn’t want that to be my last memory of you, Vegeta,” she said, a painful rasp edging her tone.

Bulma closed her eyes as the image of his evil sneer on that stage entered her mind. “I wanted to remember you as I _knew_ you. As the man I love. The wonderful man that I knew you truly were. And I was terrified about the fact that you had succumbed to darkness, and how you had abandoned the part of you that I know loves _me.”_

She finally looked up, and the tears gathering in her eyes finally fell, streaming down her cheeks as she watched his stunned face through her blurry gaze.

“And I know that you _do_ love me,” she cried. “So when you hold me, I am frightened of how one day, you could get corrupted again and I will forever lose those moments with you… that you would choose to forget those moments with me.”

Vegeta’s eyes narrowed as she kept speaking, all the things she never said before tumbling erratically from her lips.

“And when I see you be a good father to our son… Our _son,_ that beautiful boy that we didn’t even mean to bring into this world, I fear that you could choose to abandon him and he will be _devastated_ , Vegeta.”

She walked closer to him, lifting her trembling hands to grasp the sides of his face.

“So, no. I am not afraid of you, Vegeta,” she said. “But I am afraid of anything that could make you leave us once again. I am afraid of _losing_ you.”

She was not prepared for his arms wrapping fiercely around her waist, nor for his lips lunging almost blindly for hers, stealing her breath away in a passionate, desperate kiss.

His lips moved demandingly over hers, and she moaned, zealously cupping his face before her fingers sought to tangle with the thick strands of his hair.

He kissed her like a man dying of thirst, who had discovered an infinite oasis of the most delectable water within the caverns of her mouth.

When he finally pulled away, they were both gasping harshly for breath, and he laid his forehead against her own, closing his eyes as he breathed her name.

“Bulma… forgive me,” he finally said, and his eyes opened, gazing intently into her own. “I made a mistake. I should never have let Babidi control me.”

“It’s alright-”

“No, it is not,” he said. “I had believed that what I needed to be powerful was to break free from my attachments to you. I was wrong.”

Bulma’s tears slowed as he cupped her cheeks in his large, warm hands.

“My strength lies with you,” he said. “And I swear to you… Never again will I ever dare to cast you or Trunks aside.”

Bulma beamed, and she wrapped her arms around him, burying her face into the hard planes of his chest.

She laughed, holding him tight, as if her life depended upon how powerfully she clung to his body.

“I love you, Vegeta,” she whispered against his skin.

She felt his lips fall onto her head, gently kissing her hair, as he too whispered.

“As do I.”

8-8-8-8-8


	6. Detention (HS AU Part1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 04 – “Do you… well… I mean… I could give you a massage?”  
> A High School AU Vegebul one-shot for prompt #04, for @neurodivergent-peridot, @hellsbells9000 and @amazingmeplusone on Tumblr.

Dr. Gero can go right to hell.

Vegeta sniffed in disdain as he made his way to the detention hall, imagining a multitude of ways he can – he totally can, if he tried – break the neck of the offensive Assistant Principal who dared give him detention.

Him! Vegeta Prince!

Star basketball player of Shenron High, straight-A student and hottest Junior in school, if he did say so himself.

“This is Kakarot’s fault,” he grumbled, pushing back some bangs that had fallen into his eyes, straying from the rest of his spiky, dark hair.  

The fool had broken one of the large cases in the trophy room, and since his idiotic cousin had already been to detention three times in the past month and his Aunt Gine was very likely to kill him soon, Vegeta had _benevolently_ decided to take the fall.

He knew that Principal Piccolo would have let it slide.

He had not been anticipating that the Principal was going to be on sick leave, and that the universal dick, Gero, was in charge that day.

He rolled his left shoulder, cringing at the slight pain. He had strained it during practice the day before, and Kakarot should be thankful, because if he had not been injured, the black eye that Vegeta had given him would have been bigger.

“I can’t believe I’m going into detention,” he hissed as he nudged the door open…

“I can’t believe that I’m in detention!” a voice shrilled from within the room.

Apparently, he wasn’t the only one.

He peeked in through the small gap he had made in the door, and when he saw who the infuriated voice belonged to, his eyes widened as his heart beat a fierce staccato in his chest.

_Shit._

Of all the people he could possibly be stuck in detention with, it had to be _her._

Her long blue hair shone in the bright light of the room, her creamy cheeks flushed and blue eyes narrowed in her indignation.

She held her cellphone to her ear as she spoke animatedly to whoever was on the other line, and Vegeta felt a little hot under the collar as he watched her ruby lips wrap around her words.

Bulma. _Goddamn_. Briefs.

He had been harboring a major crush on her for years, but he was a “jock”, and she was the brilliant president of the Science Club and most probably the class Valedictorian once they graduate.

She had a vicious temper, but she was nice most of the time, and she wasn’t the type who looked down on or mistreated others.

They were both from well-off families, and he had first met her when he transferred from out of state due to his father’s work reassignment.

He had been twelve, and he had been flustered beyond belief at the sight of her large, bright blue eyes.

He did not know what to say, what to do, and how to deal with the almost painful slamming of his heart against his ribcage, and so, he, in his infinite tween wisdom, had decided to avoid her like the plague.

He barely spoke to her in the past five years, but he had – and this was known to absolutely _no one –_ sometimes trailed her as she walked home when she stayed late in the Science lab, to make sure that she got back alright.

“Of course I didn’t mean to blow up the machine, Gero’s just being a dick,” she said, and Vegeta smirked.

They seemed to share those sentiments, as well.

He steeled himself, before he pushed the door open to let himself in.

Bulma heard him enter, and without turning to look at him, she whispered hurriedly into the phone.

“Chi, I got to go. Later,” she said, before she ended her call and stuck the phone into her pocket.

She turned then, and Vegeta met her eyes for the first time in a _very_ long time.

He was shocked dumb by how the sight of those wide blue eyes staring into his made his breath catch in his throat.

By God… she was gorgeous.

His presence in the room seemed to surprise her as well, since she too just stared at him, her cheeks apparently still flushed from her earlier anger.

“Ve- Ve- Vegeta!” she exclaimed, eyes wide as saucers. “What are you doing here?”

He looked down at his shoes, away from her mesmerizing eyes. “I have detention today.”

“Oh,” she said. “So do I.”

He nodded, taking a seat at a chair near the door.

He looked pointedly at the door, refusing to turn around to regard her.

However, though she was out his sight, the scent of her cologne, fresh and intoxicatingly sweet, drifted into his nose, and he almost groaned at the injustice of it all.

To be so close to her, and unable to do anything…

How he wished he could just –

“Ne, Vegeta?” her voice rang like a bell, and his head involuntarily lifted to follow the sound.

“Hm?”

“Why are you sitting way over there?” she asked.

“Huh?” he answered, the absolute epitome of intelligent discourse.

“Come sit here,” she said cheerfully, patting the desk chair beside her. “We haven’t spoken in ages, I wanna catch up!”

Vegeta noted that her face still appeared flushed. He was beginning to think that maybe she had used one of those red powders that his mother used to keep her face pink.

He, on his part, could do nothing but nod, as he found himself slowly but obediently getting up to approach her.

She beamed brightly as he sat at a chair beside her, and he wondered where the hell the detention proctor was as he found himself seated next to Bulma, closer than he ever had before.

She was smiling as he squirmed internally, placidly sitting down as she leaned against the back of her chair.

Her smile faltered slightly as he looked straight at her, before she grinned brightly again.

“How have you been, Vegeta?” she asked.

“Umm… Fine…” he muttered.

“Good,” she smiled, and he watched curiously as she looked down at her hands, her smile stiffening the longer the silence between them dragged on.

“Uh…” he began, and she looked up, her eyes wide and…

Hopeful?

“I… uh… I’m in detention,” he said.

He blushed dark red when he realized exactly what he had said, and how so utterly god damn _stupid_ he must have sounded.

She giggled, and he almost snarled out a defensive “ _what are you laughing at”,_ when he looked up, and his embarrassed irritation just melted at the sight of her delighted laughter.

Her eyes were pinched shut, a hand on her lips, and the same pink blush remained at the apples of her cheeks.

“Yes, me too,” she finally answered as her giggles died down. “I accidentally blew up one of the mini  centrifuge machines in the Chem lab.”

“I was sent here for breaking the case for the big football trophy.”

She looked curiously at him, twirling a lock of her hair around a finger. “That’s pretty big. How did you manage that?”

“Well, _I_ didn’t break it,” he sniffed in disdain. “I took the fall for Kakarot, err, _Goku,_ coz if he gets into another detention this month, his mother will kill him.”

She smiled wider. “Goku is your cousin, right? That’s pretty nice of you.”

“Tch,” he said. “I just wanted to avoid the chaos. My father will most likely be part of the drama once his beloved sister starts freaking out on Goku.”

He was beginning to get the hang of this conversation, and he slouched down, leaning back on his arms.

He gasped when his arm decided to remind him that he was injured, a sharp pain resonating from his shoulder blade to his elbow.

Bulma noticed. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” he said, rolling his arm. “I just twisted my arm at practice yesterday. It’s nothing.”

“Doesn’t look like nothing.”

“I’m fine. It hurts but it’s nothing I can’t handle,” he retorted, his next thoughts souring his tone. “Your boyfriend slammed into me while I was trying to pass the ball.”

Bulma blinked. “Boyfriend?”

“Yamcha,” he said, an unintended growl passing from his lips.

“What?” she asked, eyes wide. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

“He said he is.”

“He’s not! Oh my God, is he still on about that? We went on one date. _One,”_ she fumed, lips pouting slightly. “He’s not my boyfriend, I swear.”

He sat back, relieved.

“So… your arm hurts, right? Maybe I can help?” Bulma said softly.

“What? How?” he asked.

He looked at her in confusion when she started blushing again, and she looked down at her hands as she answered.

“Do you… well…,” she stuttered. “I mean…”

“Woman, just spit it out,” he said impatiently.

“I could… I could give you a massage?”

He was stunned.

The girl of his dreams was offering to give him a massage.

She was volunteering to _touch_ _him_.

Without giving himself the chance to think and potentially cower away, he removed his thick denim jacket, leaving just his thin blue shirt, and turned his back to her before she saw the red hue crawling onto his cheeks.

“H- here,” he pointed vaguely at a spot behind his left shoulder.

He thought he heard her gulp.

And then, he felt her soft, thin fingers rest upon his shoulder.

He almost moaned, her innocent touch so electrifying, that it nearly stole all his senses.

He closed his eyes as he felt her move her fingers slowly, both of her hands moving to clutch the tight muscles on his upper back and arm.

His own fingers curled convulsively around his jacket, and he furiously stamped down the increasingly lustful thoughts that flowed through his mind the longer her fingers stayed on his back.

He felt her palms push down flat against a particularly sensitive spot, and he finally did groan, unable to keep the sounds to himself any longer.

Oh but this couldn’t possibly get any better…

“You like that, Vegeta?” her soft voice, low and hypnotic, whispered into his ear.

It got better.

He moaned as she worked on him, and he cannot believe how incredible this felt, how mind-numbing her touches were and how _good_ she was at this.

“I’m glad you let me do this, Vegeta,” she said, and the sound of his name coming from her lips absolutely flooded him with unmistakable desire.

He wanted to touch her, too.

He grasped his jacket tighter, fighting the impulse to turn around and crush her small body within his arms.

“I wish you’d come and talk to me more often,” she whispered, and he felt her shift ever closer to him.

He could almost feel her heat against his back, god _damn…_

Vegeta groaned as she moved to knead a hard knot on his side…

He belatedly noticed that her hands had strayed from his left shoulder.

“Bulma,” he moaned, and he flushed deeply as he heard the slightly desperate note in his voice.

“Hmm?” she asked, and he turned his head, only to realize that her face was dangerously close to his own.

Her soft, pink lips, puffed her sweet breaths against his face, and his mind blanked out at the overwhelming proximity.

If he leaned towards her… just a little…

A sudden, loud bang, made them jump apart, and he quickly turned around to catch Bulma as she very nearly fell off the chair that she had been kneeling very precariously on.

“Hello children,” a happy voice sounded, and Vegeta turned his fuming eyes towards the door, to the man who had _dared_ intrude on the only moment he had ever gotten to share with his blue-eyed muse.

“Mr. Mao!” Bulma greeted, and Vegeta nearly grinned at the breathless tone of her voice.

“So, good news! You kids are lucky!” Mr. Mao said, making Vegeta roll his eyes.

He would have been luckier if he had been able to kiss Bulma, god _dammit._

Mr. Mao continued. “The proctor called in sick, so since both of you are on first offense, you get to go free! Just don’t be naughty again, alright?”

Before he could even react, Bulma stood, pulling her shoulder bag on, before she basically ran out of the room after a quick thanks to Mr. Mao.

Vegeta sat stunned for a few seconds, before he gathered his wits, stood up, and ran out after her.

He looked around the hallway, and was surprised to realize that Bulma was apparently faster than he had anticipated, because she was nowhere to be found.

However, he was sure, that the girl was probably running home.

He ran full tilt, shrugging his jacket back on, using his much-celebrated speed on the court to run after Bulma.

After today, he realized… he had a chance.

And he wanted to grab that chance.

He wanted to be with Bulma. He always had.

And now he was going to _make it happen._

He had been so dumb to not even think of approaching her before.

It took him no time to catch up, and he gathered the breath in his lungs to call out for her.

“Bulma!” he shouted, and she stopped running, turning around in shock as she watched him practically fly towards her.

“Hey,” he greeted as he caught up, and he grinned as he watched her grow pale in consternation.

“Vegeta, look. I’m so sorry,” she cried. “I got caught up in that, I am so embarrassed, you probably think I’m such a creep-”

“Go out with me!”

The words, so suddenly blurted from his mouth, hung heavy between them, as Bulma blinked up at him with an ever-darkening blush taking over her whole face.

“What… Vegeta, you-”

He held a hand up, cutting her off. He needed to say this before he lost his nerve.

“Bulma. Go out with me. I am asking you out on a date,” he said, and he felt his own face begin to grow hot, as if his ears were about to literally combust from all the pressure his blood was pumping into his head.

 “W-w-why?” she stuttered, staring disbelievingly at him.

Now or never.

“Because I like you. I always have. And I,” he swallowed convulsively, pulling at the neck of his shirt as the material began to feel like it was trying to choke him. “I wanna see, if we can be together. Because I want us to be together.”

His heart nearly beat out of his chest when he saw her smile, and she raised a hand to twirl a lock of hair around her finger as she gazed into his nervous dark eyes.

“Ok,” she whispered.

He smiled, and he was about to say something more, when Bulma leaned up, and placed a very soft, very quick kiss on his right cheek.

He stood stunned, and he raised a hand to touch the place where her silky lips had touched him with a feather-like caress.

He was still in shock as she turned around, and began to walk back home, a giddy spring in her step.

“Bu-Bulma!” he called.

She didn’t even pause as she called over her shoulder, “Pick me up for school tomorrow, ok? See you, Vegeta!”

He grinned.

Some good things could come out of detention, after all.

8-8-8-8-8


	7. Accomplice (HS AU Part2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 18 - "This is without a doubt the stupidest plan you’ve ever had. Of course I’m in."  
> A High School AU Vegebul one-shot for prompt #18, for @lifeofateenagefangirl on Tumblr.  
> Sequel to Detention (Ch 6), but could stand alone.  
> Chapter Warning: Teeth-rotting teen fluff; Underage purchases.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember, young ones… No alcohol til you’re twenty-one!  
> I hope you all like this!

Vegeta could still clearly remember the way Bulma looked, when she stepped into her living room when he had picked her up for their first date.

She was wearing a red dress that flared around her knees, with flat black shoes that hugged her toes. She was holding a small black bag that looked kind of like a rounded envelope, and her long blue hair was swept away from her face and into a ponytail that swayed with her movements. She had on a very mild hint of lipstick and her neck was bare, her wide neckline showing off her collarbones.

And yet, in spite of how beautifully she had dressed that evening, the thing that Vegeta would never forget was how her smile had brightened up the whole room the moment their eyes met… how her blue orbs had shimmered happily at him as he took her hand and led her out the door.

How, at the end of the night, after they had eaten at the priciest restaurant he can afford and ran around like five-year-olds at the playground near her house, she had leaned in, and given Vegeta his very first kiss.

It was sweet, amazing, and his lips had downright trembled beneath hers, his hands desperately holding on to her hands as he tried with all his might not to push harder against her, not to haul her into his arms and never let go.

The morning after they had first agreed to go out, the whole school stared as they walked in together.

Bulma barely dated, and he _never_ did, and the sight of the two of them together had made the halls go quiet.

The Monday morning after their first date, they walked in hand-in-hand, and the halls erupted into excited whispers.

Vegeta didn’t give a damn.

Bulma was officially his girlfriend.

That was six months ago, and right now, the school year was only two weeks away from coming to an end.

For those six months, they had been learning more and more about each other, spending each day in each other’s company.

He had been her date to all the school dances, her companion for every lunch period, her bodyguard for her short walks from school to her home…

And she had been his homework and study buddy, his loudest and most avid cheerleader for every single basketball game of the season. For which, they were the reigning champion.

They both had strong personalities, and as such, they have already had their fair share of arguments and bickering, but they both enjoyed the banter, and had come to a resolution that they will try to end each day on good terms.

As finals drew near, Vegeta learned some more very interesting things about his girlfriend.

First: Bulma never studied. She just got her excellent grades through her incredible intellect, and he was awed at how she surpassed him even when he actually made efforts to learn while she treated school like a game.

Second: Because she never studied, she had an immense surplus of time that she usually spent in the Chemistry or Physics lab, but now that they were together, she wanted to spend those hours with him.

He cannot afford to _not_ study, and so, he had to watch the disappointed look on her face whenever he had to stay at home to read, and thus couldn’t spend time with her.

Third:  She was so advanced in her studies that she was exempted from AP Chemistry finals, on the condition that she work on a prototype for something he could not even understand, and submitted it on the same day of the exam.

On the night before the Chemistry finals, he was holed up in his room, desperately trying to cram the entire damn Periodic Table of Elements into his brain.

For possibly the first time in six months, Bulma was not the foremost thought in his mind.

“I _hate_ this subject,” he fumed as the atomic numbers jumbled madly in his head.

He wanted to be a lawyer. Why the hell did he need all this shit?

His cellphone rang, and he looked at it in abject disgust before he picked up without checking the caller ID.

“What?” he growled.

“Vegeta!”

“Bulma?” he asked.

They had a deal. She wasn’t supposed to call him tonight.

“Babe, I need your help,” she whined.

He sighed. “I told you I need to study tonight, Bulma. I am gonna fail this exam if I don’t, and then I can’t get into the same University as you.”

“Vegeta please. It’s really important!”

He straightened. She sounded really worried.

“What is it? Are you in trouble?” he asked, already reaching for his jacket so he could rush to her if she had a problem.

“Sort of. Can you meet me?”

He sighed, closing his Chemistry book.

Goodbye, University scholarship.

“Alright. Where?” he asked.

“Outside your back door.”

He ended the call, muttering about presumptuous women who think that their men would just let everything _slide,_ while he shrugged his jacket on and stomped his way to the back door through the kitchen.

He opened the door and walked to Bulma, who sat calmly at the garden set in her khaki shorts and pink shirt, feet swinging as she smiled apologetically at him.

“Vegetaaaa,” she sang. “I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you!”

“Just tell me what you need me to do,” he grumbled.

“Ok,” she grinned, patting the space beside her so he can sit down. “Remember how my prototype for Chemistry uses compounds in alcohol to…”

Vegeta zoned out as he sat.

Even if he paid attention, he wouldn’t understand, anyway.

“… I just realized that the best way to exhibit this is to use alcoholic beverages instead of isopropyl! I’ve been approaching it all wrong!”

He blinked. “And… what do you want me to do about it?”

“I need you to get me some Vodka.”

He stared, eyes narrowed.

“Bulma, my parents don’t drink, you know this,” he deadpanned.

“Neither do mine or Goku’s. So I need you to buy me Vodka at the liquor store,” she said happily.

He stared harder. “You realize that I am seventeen? Right? I cannot get you anything stronger than a Pepsi.”

“Well,” she smirked, reaching into her backpack, and pulling out a small card. “I know _you_ can’t. But a _fake_ you can.”

He balked when she brandished a brand new, fake ID card.

“Bulma are you insane?” he hissed, grabbing the card and reading the name _Horikawa Ryo_ in big bold letters. Beside the name was a picture of a blond man in his mid-twenties, and Vegeta realized that it was a Photoshopped picture of his father, Vegeta Sr.

“Maybe? I dunno. But I’m desperate!” she cried.

“Why don’t you just ask your parents?!” he snarled.

“They’re out of town! It’s why I’ve been asking you to come over for the past two days, remember?”

He almost grinned. He absolutely planned to come over the next evening, after the infernal Chemistry exam was over.

“And I tried, but of course the liquor store owner knew me and wouldn’t believe me! Vegeta, please?” she begged, her eyes wide, and shining suspiciously under the moonlight.

Vegeta looked at his girlfriend, who he absolutely adored, but right now, wanted to strangle.

 “I do not look a day over eighteen, never mind twenty-one,” he complained.

“Oh, that’s alright!” Bulma said, reaching into her bag and pulling out a blond wig, complete with thick glasses and a blond mustache. “I brought a disguise!”

He stared at her again, jaw slack in shock, taking in the items that he hoped would burn under his furious glare.

“Why me?” he whined.

“Because if they realize that you are faking it, you’re fast and could outrun them before they call the police!”

He ran his hand across his face in exasperation.

She was staring hopefully at him, bottom lip trembling slightly. “So… Will you do it? Are you in?” she asked.

He placed a hand on his forehead to stop the oncoming migraine.

“This is, without a doubt, the stupidest plan you’ve ever had,” he muttered.

He sighed dramatically, pulling the items from Bulma’s hands. “Of course I’m in.”

8-8-8-8-8

He walked into the liquor store, blond wig and mustache in place, glasses balanced on the tip of his nose.

The bell above the door rang merrily as he entered, startling him as his nerves began to send his blood to rush noisily within his ears.

A tall, bald man with a large birthmark on his forehead sat bored at the counter, rifling through a thick magazine with kung-fu photos on the cover.

Vegeta cleared his throat, checking out the name tag of the employee.

“Hello,” Vegeta glanced down, “Tien.”

Tien looked up at him, an eyebrow raised. “Yeah?”

“I would like two bottles of Vodka, please,” Vegeta said, trying to make his voice sound a bit deeper, like his father’s.

He didn’t think he was doing a very good job.

Tien held his hand out. “ID?”

Vegeta’s hand shook ever so slightly as he handed his fake ID to Tien, who glanced at it once, then looked back at him.

Vegeta’s palms started to sweat, and he nearly cried out in relief when Tien turned around and headed to the bottles of Vodka.

“What brand, man? Awesome name, by the way.”

8-8-8-8-8

“I am never, ever doing this again!” Vegeta hissed as he approached Bulma, who was standing half a block away from the liquor store.

“Oh my gosh, you did it!” she cried, running up to him and wrapping him up in a huge, happy hug that almost threw him off balance.

“Dammit Bulma, I almost dropped the Vodka!” he said, hastily pulling off the wig and practically throwing it to her.

She grabbed it back, smiling widely as she stuffed the wig back into her bag before she carefully took the Vodka and placed it into her bag, as well.

“That was illegal, Bulma. I seriously will never do that again. I will burn this infernal ID card, you hear me?” Vegeta said, handing the fake moustache and glasses back to her.

He calmed down slightly when she leaned up to kiss him lightly, and he sighed, unable to believe that it had _actually_ worked.

It seemed like the type of plan that would only work in cartoons.

“Oh come on, Vegeta!” she beamed, slinging her backpack onto her back. “It worked! We are now literal partners in crime! I am a supervillain and you are my accomplice!”

“You are a bad influence on me, and now I will fail my Chemistry exam.”

“You won’t fail, I promise!” she winked, leaning up to kiss his cheek again.

He turned away from her, walking ahead of her in the direction of her house, so he could take her home and get back to his cramming.

“I love you.”

Vegeta stopped dead in his tracks.

He turned around, eyes wide in shock. “You- you- what?”

She smiled, a small, shy grin, and even in the darkness, illuminated by a flickering street lamp, he saw the dark blush that rose to her cheeks as she looked earnestly at him.

“I love you,” she repeated. Then, she chuckled. “I don’t know if this is a bad time to tell you this… It probably is.”

He gaped, at a loss for words, as she continued.

“But I do,” she said softly. “I have known for a while. And I just thought… that maybe, now that you’ve committed a felony for me, maybe it was fair to let you know.”

He felt his legs move, and before he knew it, he was holding her in his arms, burying his face into her hair as she cuddled into him, rubbing her cheek against his chest.

“I… Bulma,” he stuttered. “I do, too.”

She looked up, eyes bright, mouth parted in surprise. “You… you do?”

Vegeta nodded, before he leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on her lips.

She eagerly kissed him back, wrapping her arms around his neck as she sighed against him, and Vegeta closed his eyes against the sudden onslaught of emotion that assailed him as his mind repeated her words over and over in his head.

 _I love you,_ she had said.

“ _She loves me,_ ” he thought, as he deepened their kiss, holding her more securely against him, uncaring that they were kissing out in the open, where any person passing by could easily see them.

When they finally pulled away, he held her by her upper arms as they both tried to calm their breathing.

She smiled. “We make a great team, don’t we?”

He smiled. “I am perfectly willing to be your accomplice for anything, Bulma… From now, and until a very long time.”

8-8-8-8-8

Bulma did exceedingly well on her prototype presentation, and Vegeta was surprised to note that he too had somehow been half-exempted from the Chemistry finals. The blue-haired minx had apparently credited him as co-creator of her machine, and he only needed to get fifty percent to get an A.

That evening, Vegeta finally got to take Bulma up on her offer to _come over_.

8-8-8-8-8


	8. Stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 36 – “I wish I could hate you.”  
> A post-Cell saga Vegebul one-shot for prompt #36, for @hellsbells9000 on Tumblr.  
> Chapter Warning: Angst; Fluff.

He was starting to get too strong for Bulma to handle.

Her baby boy, Trunks, a child of only seven months, was easily destroying his high chairs, crushing his toys, and biting through solid metal teethers.

Trunks wasn’t usually a fussy baby, but when everything he wants to play with just crumples in his hands, he gets a little irate, and takes it out on other furniture.

He had very nearly injured her the last time he threw a tantrum, and she, still getting used to the life of a mother, had screamed in fury, handing him off to her own mother, Panchy, while she herself dealt with her mini breakdown.

It wasn’t easy.

And though she loved her son, Bulma sometimes missed the life of a single woman with no attachments, a woman who was not responsible for another life that she needed to tend to.

It would have been easier, if _he_ had stayed.

It would have been more ideal, if Vegeta had not left.

Vegeta stayed in Capsule Corp after the Cell Games only long enough to bid the future Trunks goodbye, and then he had promptly disappeared, leaving in the middle of the night and taking nothing but the tattered armor he had worn to the Cell games.

No goodbye, not a whisper or a hint.

He never told anyone that he was leaving, and Bulma had choked in disappointment when she realized that perhaps, Vegeta truly wasn’t interested in building a family on Earth.

He had left her to journey into space just as they learned of her pregnancy, and so, she had been ready to raise Trunks on her own.

That was, until he had suddenly come back after his excursion, a manic look in his eyes as he woke her from sleep.

“ _I have done it, Bulma. I have ascended!”_

She had been the first living being he had told, the first he had shown, that he had finally attained Super Saiyan, and she had held him tight, tears of joy streaming down her cheeks as she celebrated his greatest triumph with him.

That night, as he shared himself with her one more time, he had given her hope for a future together.

It seemed more painful to have _lost_ hope, rather than to have never had it, at all.

She dashed the frustrated tears from her eyes as she sat on her work chair before a large inductor machine, working on inventing an alloy that was strong enough to withstand Saiyan force. She contemplated calling Gohan for help so that he can help her test it out…

Since Goku was no longer there for her to call, either.

She figured, she would share the alloys and reinforced cribs with Chichi once her own little surprise bundle of joy arrived.

She turned up the heat on the furnace, forcing the alloy to thicken, and she thought she had finally gotten it, when the specimen suddenly began to melt, letting Bulma know that she had failed, yet again.

“Aaaargh!” she screamed, throwing her pen across the room in her fury, slapping a hand on the large red button in front of her to disengage the machine, before she buried her face in her hands to stem the angry tears before they fell.

“Dammit! God dammit!” she yelled, standing up to stomp around her lab.

She was not expecting to see anyone standing behind her.

She definitely had not been expecting Vegeta.

He was just _there,_ watching her, his handsome face placid, looking out of place with his torn clothes and chaotically spiked black hair.

Bulma stood in stunned silence for a second, before her indignation bubbled forth and she angrily jabbed a hand against his blue-clad chest.

“Why the hell are you here?” she screeched.

Her anger made her chest physically ache, and her eyes narrowed into slits as she regarded the man who seemed to make a hobby out of stringing her along.

“Who the hell do you think you are?” she yelled, surprising herself when her voice shook as she watched his dark eyes stare into hers. “Just showing up here at anytime and then leaving whenever you feel like it… What are you playing at? Huh?”

Vegeta’s face remained impassive as she ranted, and she raised a fist, wanting so badly to just _slap_ him, to make him feel even a fraction of the hurt that he had given her.

“Dammit, Vegeta. Dammit!” she said, shoulders sagging in resignation as he stayed silent through her tirade, simply staring at her with eyes that grew more and more unreadable with each second that passed.

He had the gall to look slightly offended, and Bulma raised a hand to her eyes, squeezing them shut behind her grasp as the tears leaked out, beyond her control.

The sobs started, and she groped around behind her for her chair, sitting down on it before she hunched down and started weeping.

Her shoulders shook, and she was mortified at how she had shown such weakness in front of Vegeta, when she had sworn to herself that she would never let him come back into her life after he had left her alone once again.

She was hoping that he had left while she was in the midst of her emotional outburst, but she stiffened when she saw his shadow approach her, and she watched through blurry eyes as he kneeled down before her, cupping a hand on each of her knees.

“I suppose,” he said, “I should apologize for leaving without telling you,”

“You _suppose,”_ she spat in spite, angrily pushing her chin-length blue hair back from her face as she lifted her head to regard him.

She found his eyes, deep and unfathomable, staring intently at her mottled face as she desperately tried to stop sobbing.

“Do you wish for me to leave, then?” he asked.

A resounding “ _yes”_ sat at the tip of her tongue, but something within her stilled her lips, and all she managed to do was gape disbelievingly at him.

“Don’t you dare act as if anything I say to you has any bearing on what you will decide to do,” she seethed.

His eyes narrowed.

“I thought you were going to stay with me,” she accused, placing a hand on her chest to hold back her heart that was stubbornly still pounding madly for him. “I thought you wanted to stay. But you left.”

Bulma ran a hand through her hair, before she leaned down, resting her elbows on her knees.

“I was fine when you left me to have Trunks on my own. I had resolved to not wait for you, even though it _hurt,_ Vegeta…”

He was watching her timidly as she kept speaking. “And then you came back… you touched me like you cared, held me like you wanted _more,_ and then you left again. I can’t do this, Vegeta.”

He looked down, away from her eyes that were trying to pierce through the thick armor of his pride. “Do you resent me, Bulma?”

She stilled… Did she?

The way her heart still bled for him, how her arms still ached to hold him, said otherwise.

She took a deep breath.

“I wish,” she whispered, “I so, so wish that I could hate you.”

Vegeta looked up, staring back into her eyes as he did, and she thought she saw him flinch as he waited for her to continue.

“I wish I could say that I don’t want you here. I wish I could say that I don’t want to see your face,” she sobbed. “But… But, I can’t.”

His hands, that had been clutching her legs, loosened slightly into a soft caress that teased unwanted goosebumps across her skin.

She was surprised when he rose up, and without any warning, he dragged her to her feet, and Bulma found herself caged within his arms, his large hand holding her head against his chest as he buried his face into her hair.

Her arms acted before she could think, wrapping desperately around his waist as she sobbed helplessly against him, angry at herself for being so weak, even while her heart soared at the feel of being held by him once again.

“I left,” he began, his voice a nearly inaudible growl, brushing warm puffs of his breath across her ear, “since I needed to understand my place here, on Earth. It seemed as if nothing was left for me here, and that perhaps, I should just go back into space and find my true purpose among the stars.”

He pulled away from her then, still holding her tightly against him, while he raised a hand to brush her riotous hair behind her ear.

“I thought that perhaps it would be best if I just left, but something held me back,” he whispered.

Bulma swore that she could feel his heart pounding madly against her chest, and she held her breath as he started speaking again.

Vegeta let out a long breath in a shaky exhale, staring deeply into her eyes.

“I wish that I could say that I had the strength to truly leave you,” he murmured. “But… I could not.”

And with those words, Vegeta kissed her, his lips desperately drinking from the fount of her affection.

He held her possessively, his hands against her promising, even without words, that this time…

This time, he was going to stay.

8-8-8-8-8


	9. Besties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 32 – “I think I’m in love with you and I’m terrified.”  
> An AU Vegebul one-shot for prompt #32, requested by @heeyyy-macarena and @tsukisilverwolf on Tumblr .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be the last of my prompt fics for this particular set of prompts.  
> I will probably add to this if I find other interesting prompts, but for now, this is the end.  
> I do hope you enjoyed all of the stories!

It hit Bulma so suddenly, that she actually gasped.

She was retelling a stupid joke that nobody else had ever laughed at, and Vegeta had looked strangely at her, shook his head, and started laughing.

He looked so relaxed, unlike his usual, stern self, and she realized that she had been holding her breath as she gazed at the way his cheeks had flushed with his glee.

And just like that, in less than the time it took for her to blink, she came to the unwelcome realization that she was in love with Vegeta.

She was in love with her best friend.

They had met when she was a freshman in university, and he a sophomore. She was sitting under the shade of a large tree in the square, and he had shown up, his dark, narrow eyes and shock of spiky dark hair considerably more threatening than his rather short stature. He unceremoniously dumped his things beside her and told her that she was in his “spot”.

He was surly but cute, sarcastic but extremely intelligent.

He was an Accounting major and she had been in Engineering, and they somehow bonded over their shared hatred for their General Education and Cognate courses.

They graduated in the same year, as Bulma had blown through her courses with ease, and both found work in the most prestigious robotics and automation firm in the country.

Right then, as they sat in the company cafeteria eating lunch, Bulma found herself facing the biggest dilemma she had ever faced since the day she met Vegeta six years ago.

“Oi. You alright?” he asked, taking in her ashen face as Bulma felt all the blood drain from her face.

“Oh, uh… yeah,” she lied, even as she truly did begin to feel lightheaded. She pushed her short blue hair back from her face, her sky-hued eyes dim with her unease. “Yeah, I just, uh… it’s hot. I feel woozy.”

“Do you want me to bring you to the clinic?” he asked, brows lowered in concern.

Her heart clenched.

It was exactly this sort of thing that had made her fall in love with him without her noticing.

“No, it’s fine, thank you Vegeta,” she whispered, shakily getting up as her mind tried to process what her heart had known for a very long time.

“Are you sure? You do not look well, Bulma. I could-”

“No, really, it’s ok,” she said, taking her purse with her s she decided to head back to her office. “Finish your lunch. I’ll be fine.”

He looked at her with naked worry in his eyes as she walked away, and she wanted to cry.

She… wasn’t ready for this.

It was a terrible thing, to be in love with Vegeta.

Not because he was a bad person, but because she knew that if she told him, and he did not feel the same way, her most cherished friendship with him would be over…

And she couldn’t lose him… that was the last thing she would ever want.

8-8-8-8-8

Bulma had never been good at being subtle, and she knew that sooner or later, Vegeta would catch up to her, corner her, and ask what was really bothering her.

She had been avoiding him.

It was extremely obvious.

It was so obvious, even her oblivious trainee, Chichi, had asked about it.

“Are you mad at Vegeta-san, Bulma-san?” Chichi asked innocently, and Bulma stiffened, raising her head to stare at the younger girl.

“Why do you think that, Chichi-san?” she asked, even as she roiled at the implication.

“Well,” Chichi said, eyes still on the stacks of reports that she was sorting for Bulma. “You both haven’t hung out here in the past week, you always leave just as he comes knockin’. Also, you’ve been out to lunch with the guys in Mech more often than him this past week. And you _hate_ them.”

Leave it to Chichi, to put it so bluntly.

Bulma tried to quickly think of a way to divert the discussion. “Well, you and Goku from QM seem to be getting along fine.

Chichi blushed scarlet, and Bulma cheered internally as the demure young woman placed a hand against her chest, stuttering slightly as she answered.

“Yes, Bu-Bulma-san,” she smiled. “He-he asked me to dinner. We will go out on Saturday.”

“Oh, that’s great!” Bulma cheered, a genuine smile on her lips as she watched Chichi blush even redder. “I think you will make such a cute couple!”

“Ya think so, Bulma-san?”

“Yes! Absolu-”

“Bulma?” a rough, throaty voice cut her off mid-sentence, and Bulma turned startled eyes at the door, seeing Vegeta standing there with his hands crossed across his chest.

“Vegeta!” she exclaimed, flustered, as she worked to put a fake smile on her face.

“I need to talk to you,” he said without preamble.

“I’m busy right now-”

“At lunch?”

“I’m going with Chichi,” she said, startling the said girl, who looked up at her in surprise.

“After work, then,” he said, raising a hand to stop her as she stuttered out another excuse. “And do not even try to tell me that you have plans. It is Tuesday. You never go out on Tuesdays.”

He turned around and left without giving her a chance to speak, and she turned helplessly to Chichi, who just looked at her with sympathetic eyes.

Bulma sighed, slumping down into her chair, wondering how on earth she could avoid the inevitable confrontation.

8-8-8-8-8

It had become abundantly clear, that the confrontation was going to be unavoidable.

Bulma left her desk half an hour earlier than usual, only to run right into Vegeta as she tried to sneak out.

Her _bestie_ of six years simply smirked, gesturing to let her through, as he calmly herded her out into the parking lot.

She groaned as she drove out into the road, watching his sleek, white sedan tailing her mercilessly, until she finally drove up to her small home.

Bulma took a deep, shaky breath, calming her nerves, her brilliant mind racing as she tried and failed to come up with an excuse as to why she had been so clearly running away from Vegeta for the past week.

A demanding knock on her car window woke her from her desperate musings, and with a final, hapless sigh, she left her car, heading into the house with Vegeta a bare few inches behind her.

She didn’t even get the chance to sit before her door slammed shut, and she jumped, turning to face the man whose mere presence had been wreaking havoc onto her senses.

“What,” he ground out, eyes narrowed in irritation, “is your _problem_?”

She tried to blink innocently at him. “Nothing!”

“Don’t you lie to me, woman!” he snarled, a hand reaching up to grasp her upper arm, and she nearly flinched even though his hold remained strangely gentle on her skin.

“I don’t have a problem, Vegeta, I swear!” she squeaked, only serving to infuriate him.

“You don’t have a problem?” he demanded. “Bulma, the whole damn company has been asking me why we are _fighting,_ and if we are, then I am the last to know.”

“I’ve just been busy lately-”

“Bulma!” he shouted, and she stood stunned, staring into his furious, and strangely melancholy dark eyes. “Stop it! If I have done something to offend you, I need to know.”

“You didn’t do anything,” she said softly, a hand reaching out to touch his arm. “I swear.”

He gritted his teeth. “Then why,” he forced out, “have you been avoiding me.”

Her shoulders shook as she took a deep breath, mind in abject chaos as she tried her best to talk her way out of this situation.

She had just about come up with something, when he spoke again.

“I can’t have you running away from me, Bulma. You are my best friend...”

_Best friend._

His _best friend._

The words struck a painful chord within her, as she remembered the reason why she absolutely cannot tell him what her issue was.

However, her wounded heart worked faster than her brain, and before she could stop herself, she heard herself snarl out.

“Yes. We are total _besties,_ aren’t we?”

He suddenly let go of her, hands raised in midair as if he had been burnt by the feel of her skin.

“Bulma… what?” he asked softly, voice hoarse in confusion. “Why are you doing this? I do not understand. What have I done wrong?”

Tears began to gather at the edges of Bulma’s eyes as the pained look in Vegeta’s finally dug deep into her heart, and she realized that she cannot… _cannot_ , keep silent anymore.

He deserved to know.

And if he chose to abandon her after he learns of how she truly felt for him, then that was entirely his choice.

But Bulma had to tell him.

He was her best friend.

Her best friend, who had stuck with her through every frustrating exam week, listened to her rant about each failed prototype and every impossible experiment…

Who had lent her his shoulders and ears as she cried about her heartaches, breakups and self-doubts, and cheered her up by reminding her that she was worth much more than she often gave herself credit for.

He was her dearest friend… the man she loved…

He deserved nothing less than her honesty.

“Vegeta,” she said, and his eyes zoned into her hesitant eyes as she twisted her fingers together in her consternation. “I am going to tell you… something very important.”

He nodded, and she felt her eyes grow wet as her heart pounded in her ears.

This was it.

“I… I… You… You haven’t done anything wrong,” she choked, and she watched his eyes narrow in concentration, filling with worry as he began to realize the depths of her distress. “This… this is me. My fault. I’m sorry.”

“Why? What is the matter?”

She felt her throat seize up, every cell screaming at her to _shut up,_ but she pushed on.

“I’m scared, Vegeta.”

He kept looking at her, unmoving. “Of what?”

She took a deep breath, gathering all of her strength into her voice, as she brokenly whispered.

“I am afraid, of how I feel for you,” she said. “I think I’m in love with you… and I’m terrified.”

He stiffened, and she closed her eyes, not willing to see the look on his face as he let her know of his rejection.

“You think you’re in love with me?” he rasped. “Well… that makes just one of us, then.”

The tears she had been valiantly holding back finally began to fall, and she shuddered as she felt the weight of her despair fall upon her shoulders.

“ _I knew it_ ,” she thought. “ _He sees me as a friend… nothing more._ ”

Vegeta spoke again. “Because I do not think that I am in love with you.”

She clenched her eyes tighter, unable to believe how cold he was being.

It was too much…

She wanted to run from him, and she felt her feet begin to lift to turn away, when his voice stopped her dead in her tracks.

“I _know_ I am.”

Her eyes popped open in shock, and she stared disbelievingly at him, as he moved forward, taking her numb hands in his as he tried to catch her eyes.

“I know I am in love with you, Bulma. And I am not terrified,” he said, gulping audibly as he spoke to her heart. “Because the woman I love is my best friend, and I know you would never hurt me. I am determined, now more than ever, to make you mine.”

Her tears fell faster, a shaky smile making its way onto her lips.

“Vegeta…” she whispered. “You mean it?”

He nodded. “I have always wanted you. Why do you think I even spoke to you that day under the tree?”

She laughed. She had always wondered about that as she grew to get to know him. He was never the type to initiate contact, and she had always found it strange that he approached her that time.

It finally made sense…

He grinned at her. “You need to stop fearing what you feel for me, woman. Because I am here for you. And if it were up to me, I always will be.”

And with those words, he leaned forward, taking her trembling lips with his, in their very first kiss…

The first, of what she knew, would be their eternity of kisses.

8-8-8-8-8

End


	10. Confetti (HS AU Part3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> High school sweethearts Bulma and Vegeta decide that it was time to take a new, very important step in their relationship.  
> A High school AU Vegebul one-shot for prompt #12 for a writing prompt post, for Life-of-a-teenage-fan-girl  
> A sequel to Detention and Accomplice, but can stand alone.  
> Chapter warning: Humor; Slight sexual references; Very slight nudity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am currently going through a massive writer’s block, so I decided to try fighting it by trying to write, lol! I am rather insecure about this particular one-shot, so please, if you have the time, I would appreciate your comments!

“What?”

Vegeta, struck dumb and entirely speechless, stared at Bulma, unable to believe that she had actually said what he was _sure_ she had said.

“I think it’s time! Don’t you?” his girlfriend of a year and a half asked calmly as she licked her rapidly melting ice cream cone, meeting his eyes dead on as she spoke with complete conviction.

He blinked once. Twice.

A nervous, slightly hysterical bark of laughter left him as he anxiously ran a hand through his hair. “You’re serious?” he asked incredulously.

Her brows furrowed.

“Of course I’m serious!” she said, and he watched as she appeared to visibly deflate. “Don’t you want to?”

“What? No! I mean,” he gulped, still internally screaming even as he fought to keep his composure. “Of- of _course_ I want to… Rather, I would be honored to… you know…”

Bulma’s eyes lit up again as she chomped on the last bits of her ice cream.

They were sitting in a secluded spot near the back of the school cafeteria when she had suddenly asked him something that was the absolute last thing that he had expected to hear from her that day.

“So you agree?” she asked, wiping her mouth clean, watching him as she waited for him to confirm.

Vegeta gulped again, and he distinctly felt his face grow hot as his embarrassment flooded through him. “Yes. I mean, I of course would- would like to... to… I do want to… m- make love to you…”

Bulma grinned widely.

“However!”  he said, annoyed at how he was sure that his entire face must be flaming red right then. “Are _you_ absolutely sure? And _why_?”

He still could not believe that Bulma had asked him to do _that_ with her.

And on prom night.

Of all the ridiculous clichés in the _universe_ …

“Well,” she began, looking skyward as she placed a finger to her lips, nose crinkling cutely in her contemplation. “We’ve been together for a long time. We’re both eighteen now, and I really wanna get this over and done with before we head off to university.”

Vegeta felt a slight tick form above his eye.

“You say that as if it is a damn _chore-”_

“Also,” she continued, before she looked back into his eyes, an earnest smile on her face. “We are in love. And I want my first time to be with you. Isn’t that reason enough?”

His mouth clamped shut.

It had been months since she had first told him that she loved him, and he had admitted that the feeling was mutual. And yet, it still never failed to astound him whenever she spoke so casually about such things.

He did love her. He truly did... And all his fluster and bluster aside, he knew that he wanted his first to be with her, as well.

Tamping down his embarrassment and sheer, unbidden excitement, he faced her, reaching for her hands.

He watched a dark flush appear on her cheeks, a small gasp leaving her lovely mouth as he slowly brought her knuckles up to his lips, softly kissing them in silent promise.

A promise; that he would be there for her, always, and that he would make sure that he would always be around for all of her firsts.

8-8-8-8-8

Bulma was part of the committee organizing the prom, and in usual Bulma fashion, she had been overthinking the preparations and ended up heaving a huge responsibility upon her own shoulders.

He tried hard to be the usual supportive boyfriend, but he was growing tired that day, and on top of that, he was anxiously counting down the hours leading into the night of the prom.

In roughly seventy two hours, he and Bulma would be doing _it_.

In just about seventy two hours, he had to be ready to make it a night that she will forever remember with fondness as the most amazing night of her life.

Vegeta had been… ahem… _researching,_ and it seemed that no resource on earth gave any actual helpful advice as to how to please his woman while being a man who was untouched, as well.

He needed to find a way to make it good… better than she would expect.

He needed it to be the best night of their lives.

He was so incredibly frustrated, and it showed as his words rained unchecked while Bulma stared around at the large warehouse store.

“Bulma, we have been here for _hours!_ What the heck else do you need?!” he bellowed, peering over the overflowing shopping cart.

He watched as she sighed, then slowly walked back to him, her shoulders slumped in dejection.

“I just wanted to find the confetti, Vegeta. Then we can go, ok?” she said softly, tiredly, and he instantly felt like a tool.

“Look,” he bit out. “I am just tired, alright? We still need to go to class tomorrow.”

“I know, and I’m sorry,” she said. “I just need to buy this one last thing. Then we’re done, and we can head home.”

“Why do you need it so badly, anyway?”

Bulma grinned, and she skipped ahead of him as she finally spotted the infernal little bits of paper and glitter.

“Oh, Vegeta, didn’t you know?” she asked, victoriously holding up the bags. “This will make prom even more memorable!”

He huffed as she placed the bags into the cart, then began steering him to the checkout counters.

She beamed. “You see, confetti makes everything, and I mean _everything,_ much better!”

He stood speechless, lost in thought as the cashier began ringing out their purchases.

 _“Makes everything_ _better, huh?”_ he thought.

He grinned as a plan began to form in his head.

8-8-8-8-8

It was the night of the prom, and after Vegeta had recovered from the sight of Bulma wearing the sexiest dark blue dress he had ever seen, he had taken her hand, driving her to the school gym in his new white car.

The color of her dress set off her eyes and hair, and Vegeta beamed uncharacteristically as he proudly held on to whom, he was certain, was the most gorgeous woman in the entire district.

And she truly _was_ a woman. Her body had filled out in the past year, her curves gently sloping beneath the dress, and he could imagine himself peeling the skin-tight material from her to peer at the temple beneath all the cloth.

Her red lips smiled beguilingly at him, and he had to wonder how he was going to survive the night when her sheer beauty made him quiver helplessly in his shoes.

They had danced the night away, and he had stolen several kisses from her as the night progressed, hiding his nerves over what they had planned for after the school affair was over.

As they began to wrap up, Bulma sent him a sultry grin that made the blood drain from his head.

Showtime.

That… was when things had started going downhill.

They had gone to his house, knowing that his parents were out of town, but they were entirely unprepared to find his younger brother, Tarble, sitting in the living room, playing videogames.

“Oi, Tarble!” Vegeta yelled. “I thought you were going to Puar’s!”

He glanced back at Bulma, who stood behind him as he had pulled her in through the doorway.

“Yeah, well, Puar is running late so I’m stuck here for thirty more minutes,” Tarble said, before he looked up at the couple standing near the doorway.

Tarble smirked. “What, did you want the house to yourselves bro? After all, it _is_ your prom night.”

Vegeta swore his face was glowing red, and glancing back at Bulma, he was relieved to find that he was not the only one.

“Get. The heck. Out of here, Tarble,” Vegeta gritted out, and Tarble quickly shut off the console as he stood, running out of the house as if the mere fumes of Vegeta’s ire were enough to terrify him into compliance.

He looked at his girlfriend again, and he stood stock still as he realized that Bulma had been observing him slightly, a glazed look in her eyes as her lips parted with her soft breaths.

“Hey,” he said, gently nudging her with a hand on her elbow.

“Did I… Did I ever manage to tell you that you look incredible tonight, Vegeta?”

Her softly whispered words sent his heart to pound madly in his ears as he faced her, and he smiled, taking her chin with the tips of his fingers to tilt her head up so he can plant a kiss on her ruby lips.

Without another word, he led her up to his bedroom, every step on the stairs sounding like war drums to his ears.

They were actually about to do this!

They stepped into his bedroom, which he had obsessively cleaned for the past week, and he watched as she hummed in approval of the special silk sheets that he had _borrowed_ from his mother’s special cabinets.

Standing at the foot of his bed, Vegeta pulled Bulma close, taking in her contented sigh, before he lowered his head to hers to kiss her once again.

It was as they clumsily tried to undress each other while kissing that they encountered their next problem…

_Rrrriiip._

Bulma pulled away with a gasp.

“Vegeta, what was that?”

Vegeta’s brows furrowed as he desperately tried to pull at the zipper at her back. “It’s not moving.”

“ _What_?”

Bulma spun around, heading for his cabinet where a full-length mirror was concealed behind his closet door. She groaned as she looked at herself in the mirror, twisting around to see the damaged dress.

“Oh God! I can’t believe the zipper broke!”

Vegeta held his hands up, terrified by the prospect of her anger. “I did not break it, I swear. I was just trying to slide it down. I know how to work a zipper.”

“Oh, you don’t understand! Even if you _had_ been the one to break it, this dress is by _Cinco,_ it shouldn’t have a broken zipper!”

He had no idea what a Cinco was.

Bulma continued complaining about how she was going to sue the dressmaker, and Vegeta sighed, sitting down at the foot of his bed and combing a hand through his hair.

It took a few more moments before Bulma snapped out of her capitalistic rage.

“Vegeta, I’m sorry, can we… start over?” she asked, turning back around to stand before him.

Her generous cleavage mesmerized him, and with a gulp, he nodded.

She smiled, before she began to try to tug her tight dress up over her head.

“H-hey! Bulma!” he exclaimed. “What are you doing?”

Bulma blinked. “Undressing. I suggest you do the same,” she answered with a scandalous wink.

He hurriedly began to tug his own clothes off, and within a few moments, Vegeta stood before Bulma in his boxers, and he stared at the deep red color of her bra and silk panties as she stood blushing before him.

She was absolutely astounding, even with her hair mussed and makeup smudged by the dress being pulled harshly over her head, and he couldn’t _wait_ to get his hands on her!

However, before he could move, Bulma rushed past him, flinging herself onto his bed and burying herself beneath the covers, her abject humiliation spelled out by the dark blush on her cheeks.

She refused to look at him as he slowly approached her, lifting a corner of the blanket so he could get in bed beside her.

They lay still, silent, backs flat against the mattress while Bulma desperately clutched the thick blankets to her chest.

“So…” she said, finally breaking the silence.

“Yeah?”

“This… umm… this part seemed a lot sexier in my head,” she said, a nervous chuckle bubbling up from her throat.

He laughed.

“Should we… umm… should we, you know… get to it, then?” Bulma squeaked.

He got up to lean over, pushing her hands away from their protective spot on her chest, and he stared unashamed at the pale orbs peaking at him from beneath the cover of her smooth underwear.

Bulma was still blushing, and Vegeta finally decided to man up and lead the way.

He kissed her passionately, drawing a gasp from her, as his hands held his weight off her, bracing his palms against the mattress as he pulled delighted whimpers from her chest.

Their hands began to wander, and he shivered in want as her slender fingers gently clutched at his waist, shyly scratching at his skin, and he lowered himself slightly to let his thighs rub against her own.

Just as he thought that it was all _finally_ going so well, Bulma suddenly stiffened.

He pulled away, panting, breathless from the long kiss and the desire that she had stoked with her smooth hands on his skin.

“What? Did I do something wrong?” he asked.

Bulma was flushed, but he realized that she was also frowning, eyes wide in shock.

“Vegeta…” she began, and he watched as she shut her eyes in consternation. “May I use your toilet?”

He nodded dumbly, getting off her so she could hurriedly run out of the bedroom and into the bathroom in the hallway.

Vegeta sighed, clutching at his sheets, and he was about to lie down to wait for Bulma to come back when he heard some very undignified swearing spill from the bathroom.

He got up, curious and concerned, and he cautiously walked to knock softly on the bathroom door.

“Bulma, are you alright?” he asked.

She was still swearing creatively as she opened the door a tiny crack, peering up at him, looking even more mortified than she had been after she undressed before him.

“Vegeta… I’m sorry!” she whispered. “I… My… Oh God.”

“What? What’s the matter?”

“I…” she gulped. “My… monthly… dammit.”

He felt his blood rush into his cheeks as he understood. “Oh. Shit.”

“Shit is right!” Bulma whined. “Would you happen to know where your mother keeps her… products?”

He nodded. “In the white cabinet with the flower sticker near the shower.”

Bulma nodded, before she disappeared into the bathroom.

Several minutes later, both lay dejectedly onto the bed, each dressed in Vegeta’s sleeping clothes.

Bulma had washed her face free of makeup using his mother’s facial wash, and now they both stared glumly at the ceiling, too embarrassed to talk.

He cleared his throat.

She sighed.

“Vegeta…” she began. “Sorry we couldn’t do this. My period wasn’t supposed to start until a week from now. I guess I was… nervous and the stress caused it to come earlier.”

He raised a brow at that. “You? Nervous? You’re usually the one who’s leading the way in most of our escapades.”

“I know, but…” she sighed again. “This is different. I didn’t want to disappoint you. And that’s exactly what I ended up doing.”

Vegeta sat up, staring at her in confusion. “Disappoint _me?_ I was going nuts over how to make this night perfect for _you_!”

Bulma let out a sharp breath, sitting up to face him, as well. “What? No! I even picked out some really nice underwear so I wouldn’t bore you!”

“Bore me?!” he asked, incredulous. “Bulma, you could never bore me. And… this… that you had even thought to share your first with me… I could never thank you enough.”

Bulma smiled. “I’m really sorry, Vegeta. Let’s just try again some other time.”

Vegeta grinned. “Yeah. I don’t mind, Bulma. I am just sorry that we never got to use my surprise.”

Bulma cocked her head questioningly as Vegeta reached behind him, pulling at a previously unnoticeable piece of string from the headboard…

Releasing a shower of tiny little bits of paper and glitter onto them, like magical rainfall upon their skin.

“What… Vegeta?” Bulma asked, smiling softly. “What is all this?”

She peered up, finally spotting the small box hidden behind his light fixture, and the bit of string that hung from it, to end right at the headboard, unseen by her previously distracted eyes.

He had rigged it so that he can make the confetti fall onto them at the best possible time.

She burst into laughter. “Vegeta! Confetti? Seriously?”

He felt himself blushing again as he bit out. “What? You said it yourself! Confetti makes everything better! I wanted this night to be better than just _better_. It had to be _perfect_.”

Bulma smiled brilliantly at him at his words, and he felt a small thrill rush up his spine as she leaned closer, pulling him to her as she kissed him once again.

He would never tire of her kisses…

“Oh, Vegeta!” she said, placing a small kiss onto the tip of his nose. “Everything about you… Anything with you, is perfect for me.”

He grinned. “I guess we both over-prepared for this, didn’t we?”

She nodded. “Yeah. Maybe… maybe we shouldn’t plan for this to happen?”

He grinned, taking her hands in his as he led her to lay back on his bed, amidst the shining bits of confetti that he had prepared in his efforts to make the night perfect, for this one, perfect girl.

“I agree. No more planning. It happens, when it happens,” he answered.

She leaned closer, placing her head against his chest. “Yes. And when it does, we’ll know that it would have been the perfect time.”

“And no matter how it goes,” he added, holding her tight against him as he pulled his fingers through the long strands of her blue hair. “It will be perfect. Because it will be you and me.”

8-8-8-8-8

Some months after, just a short week before Vegeta and Bulma headed off to university, they finally got it right.

There was no need for any silly preparations and perfect silk sheets.

Just the two of them, and the feelings between them that they had been holding on to for a long time.

And just as they had both wished … it was perfect.

They didn’t even need confetti.

8-8-8-8-8

End


	11. Wordless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A very short ficlet based on this challenge on the VBO Discord:  
> Write a scene where body language plays an important part in conveying the character's emotions - without using the eyes or eyebrows.

She was clearing the breakfast table when his hand fell gently onto her arm.

Vegeta was turned away from her, and to anyone other than the two of them, it would seem as if the touch was a coincidental brush, a careless movement that should not even merit a thought.

Yet, Bulma knew her husband. She would hazard to say that she was the only being, dead or alive, who knew him as well as she did.

And she understood...

The simple contact, to others nothing but a mere brush, was his way of quietly whispering "I love you."

As she moved to the sink, she let her elbow brush him softly, and out of the corner of her eye she saw his small, answering smirk before he moved away to head to the gravity room.

She smiled.

Better than anyone else, he understood her, as well. 

 


	12. Bloody

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 14 – “Can we not have blood on the walls when guests come over?”  
> Guests are coming over for a barbeque, and Bulma is not happy to find that her home has been painted red with the blood of her husband…. Living with Saiyans, will always be a challenge.  
> A seven-year gap one-shot.  
> Standalone story that is in the same continuity as Mildly Destructive (one shot, Rated E).  
> Chapter warning: PG; Humor; Slight sexual references; Very slight nudity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the lovely hannabelllecter. Sorry it took forever!  
> This is a playful little Briefs family story, because I have missed writing these three together. I hope you like it!

It never made sense to her, how they seemed to thrive on pain.

They had been living under the same roof for ten years, lovers for eight, and married for four.

Their son, now a young boy, also relished the daily katas, and for his seventh birthday, only asked for one gift: to be allowed to train with his father within the gravity chamber.

Bulma clearly remembered the look of unmistakable pride on Vegeta’s face as he had smirked, patted Trunks on the head, and nodded.

He had turned away, before he called out, “On the day of your birth celebration, be at the gravity room at the crack of dawn, and we shall begin.”

And so, it had begun.

Bulma could clearly recognize that the training sessions had been becoming more severe, more serious, and the first time she had seen a purplish bruise on the arm of _her baby boy_ , she had screamed bloody murder and had thrown Vegeta out of their bedroom.

Trunks had actually been the one who approached her the following morning.

_Mama… Don’t be mad at Papa. We’re Saiyans, after all._

Saiyans.

The two had become more careful after then, or at least, more careful with landing their hits in places where she could not see the bruises.

The first time she heard Vegeta hiss after she innocently touched his back as they lay in bed together, she realized that Trunks had been getting stronger, and Vegeta was _happy_ about it.

He had mused that soon, he would allow the boy to train with him under increased gravity.

Their injuries should no longer faze her.

And yet, when she saw her two boys seated in the center of their living room, surrounded by bandages and bloody bits of cloth, she was unable to keep herself from screaming in horror.

“What happened?!” she yelled, running to Vegeta and Trunks, both of whom covered in various patches of blood, the red fluid smeared over the walls and some of her furniture.

“Trunks!” she exclaimed as she held his bloody cheeks, brushing back his thick purple hair and looking searchingly into his blue eyes that were the exact same color as her own. “Are you alright?”

Trunks just beamed at her.

“Yes, mama!” he said, before he frowned slightly. “Don’t worry, this isn’t my blood. It’s all papa’s!”

As if _that_ made it _so much better._

There was a lot of blood everywhere, and she turned away from her son to check on her husband.

“Vegeta-”

“I am fine, Bulma,” he muttered, teeth clamped over the end of a roll of bandages as he tried to wrap his bleeding arms. Red droplets of blood splattered into the rebellious waves of his thick black hair and in between his pinched dark eyebrows.

“That’s what you always say!” she yelled.

Both boys winced.

“Trunks,” she turned furious eyes to their son. “Go take a shower, now.”

With a nod and gulp, Trunks flew off.

“And you,” she said, grabbing the bandages from Vegeta. “Up to our bedroom.”

With a roll of his eyes, Vegeta stood, his feet leaving bloody prints on her floor as he marched up the stairs dutifully.

Bulma sighed heavily, chest heaving in aggravation.

Chichi, Gohan and Goten were coming over for barbeque in a couple of hours, and her house looked like a veritable slaughterhouse.

Picking up a tablet that lay beside the living room television, she tapped out a command to a few of their cleaning bots so they could take care of the mess. As soon as she saw two hurriedly roll in with mops and cleaning materials, she nodded to herself and made her way back up to the bedroom, where her husband awaited.

She heard the water pattering from the shower as soon as she stepped into the room. She pulled out the medicine kit from their cabinet, laid down the necessary tools, then sat at the edge of the bed to wait for Vegeta.

When he emerged, Bulma couldn’t help but hold her breath.

The steam from the shower hovered around him, enveloping him like a lover’s caress, and as always, she felt the irresistible pull, the magnetic attraction between them rise as their eyes met from across the floor.

Even with the scratches, bruises, and the unmistakable gash that slashed across his right shoulder, Vegeta was an incredible sight. She very nearly gulped when he started walking, the thick muscles of his thighs pulling and relaxing with his movements, the small towel wrapped around his waist a near-infuriating barrier around the prize that she knew lay hidden beneath.

He made his way to her, slowly, in measured steps, and in spite of herself, she grinned as she watched a small smirk make its way to his lips.

Without a word, he sat beside her.

She breathed heavily as she applied the salve on his scratches and wounds, carefully wrapping the bandages around the areas where the blood had already stopped flowing from otherwise serious injuries.

His voice, piercing through the quiet, startled her.

“This seems particularly familiar, does it not?”

She looked up at him questioningly as she finished wrapping up a wound around his arm.

“What? This?” she asked.

He smirked.

“I seem to recall a certain cool noon, when a frail Earthling woman dragged me into my bedroom, commanded me to shower, bandaged my wounds… before she gave me the most _incredible_ night of my life.”

A furious blush took over her face as all of her blood rushed to her head, and she squirmed as she slapped lightly at his chest, recalling the exact instance that he was referring to…

The first time they had fallen into bed together was certainly a memory that she would never forget.

Vegeta threw his head back, laughing at her embarrassment, and she peeked up at him through her lashes before she joined in, shaking her head at his morbid glee.

“I can’t believe you would bring that up out of the blue, after all these years,” she chuckled.

“It has been quite a while. Trunks is seven. It is astonishing, how the years have just flown by.”

“And yet,” she grinned, “here we sit, exactly the same as before.”

“Because you still insist on wrapping up my injuries that we both know will heal by the end of the day.”

Bulma looked straight into his eyes at that. “Because you still aren’t careful. These wounds could get infected -”

“They will _not -”_

“You seem to just love getting yourself hurt -”

“It is part of _training -”_

“And now you have _Trunks_ doing it!” Bulma exclaimed, throwing her hands up in exasperation, before she stood up and began pacing the room.

She was frustrated. How was she going to keep her family safe when _they_ were the ones who insisted on injuring themselves?

She stopped when she ran right into a hard wall of flesh, huffing indignantly when she realized that Vegeta had also stood to stop her pacing.

“What do you want me to say, Bulma?” he asked, eyes narrowed in his own slight irritation.

He raised a hand up, brushing back a lock of her short blue hair so he can look into her eyes as he spoke.

“I cannot stop training, as much as you cannot stop with your inventions. I am a warrior, and I will always need to get stronger,” he said.

She sighed, resting her hands around his trim waist, bunching the towel up between her fingers.

“I know that. But… just now… seeing you and Trunks and all that blood, it scares me,” she whispered.

He answered with a smirk. “I am a Saiyan. And so is our son. Did you not once tell me that you wished for me and Trunks to be closer? We are fighters. This is our way. For amongst Saiyans, our bonds are forged with blood.”

She raised one of her hands then, to clasp gently at his chest.

“I understand that, Vegeta,” she answered. “But… Trunks is half Earthling. And for us here, on Earth… We forge our bonds with love.”

She felt him stiffen beneath her fingers, and she sighed as she thought of how, even after all these years, her husband still cringed at the mere mention of tenderness and feelings.

She continued. “Our son may thrive in blood and carnage as much as you do, but could you bond with a _little_ less blood? He doesn’t _just_ look up to you… He loves you, Vegeta.”

With that, Bulma leaned up, planting a small kiss on his astonished lips, pulling away before he had half a mind to deepen the contact.

She grinned at his slightly dazed look. “I love you.”

He smirked, his arms winding around her own waist before he pulled her flush against him and attacked her lips with his, and she giggled against his mouth as he growled and lifted her off her feet, dropping her onto their bed before he hovered over her, a lecherous sparkle gleaming in his eyes.

Bulma smiled.

As  far as she was concerned, when it came to Vegeta, actions spoke louder than words, and by his actions after her usual declarations of love, there was no doubt in her mind that he felt the same… he just wasn’t ready to admit it quite yet.

Another giggle escaped her as she watched him pull back, ripping the towel off from himself with an exaggerated flourish.

“I know what you’re thinking, and no, Vegeta. We have guests coming,” she said, even while she remained unmoving on the bed, welcoming him into her arms as he leaned down to kiss her once again.

“I don’t give a fu-”

“Vegeta! We can’t!” she laughed as she watched a pout cross his face.

“What can I do to persuade you otherwise?” he asked then, and in spite of her half-hearted rejection, she felt his hands crawl stealthily beneath her blouse to grasp her waist.

“Well… Just… Can we not have blood on the walls when guests come over? Promise me that you and Trunks will be more careful when you train,” she asked, melting slowly under the gentle assault of his fingers on her flesh.

“We will be more careful, you have my word,” he answered earnestly, and Bulma smiled.

“Thank you,” she whispered, before she arched up to plant a grateful kiss on his cheeks.

She then turned her eyes to her wrist, checking her watch.

A wicked grin lit up her face, and she watched as Vegeta smirked back.

“Well?” he asked.

“Forty five minutes, homeboy,” she answered.

“We can work with that,” he snarled before he kissed her again, and Bulma lost herself once more to the incomparable sensations of his touch.

They took a bit longer than forty five minutes.

Bulma supposed, it was a good thing that the Sons were always late.


	13. Sweets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 11 - “I will shove this candle down your throat, take the cupcake!” 
> 
> Summary: Bulma and Bulla have a little surprise for Papa Vegeta, and he’s not quite sure how to react.  
> A post-DBS one-shot.  
> Standalone story that is in the same continuity as Signs. 
> 
> Chapter Warning: PG; Humor, Slight sexual references.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the super sweet thats-my-bulma. :)  
> I think this is my first time writing Bulla, so I hope this is alright! :D  
> Your comments will be super appreciated!

“Here, Papa!”

Vegeta’s eyebrows shot up in surprise as his little blue-haired daughter, Bulla, insistently shoved a mangled-looking… thing… before his face.

His face contorted in his confusion, and his brows began to lower back into their customary furrow above his pitch-black eyes. Slowly, hesitantly, he reached forward to let his fingers hover over whatever it was that the five-year old was holding out to him.

“Eschallote,” he began, using his private nickname for the tiny Saiyan princess. Uncertainty colored his every syllable as he glared at the tiny pink monstrosity in her chubby hand. “What is that, exactly?”

She beamed happily up at him, and a grin threatened to tug the sides of his lips upwards as he watched the unabashed adoration in his child’s eyes.

A child, adoring _him._

Twenty years ago, it would have been unfathomable.

Bulla held her hands up, and he automatically reached down to help her climb up the high armchair that he had been peacefully reclining upon.

She sat fitfully on his legs, adjusting her frilly pink dress, before she answered.

“It’s a cake, Papa!”

He looked disbelievingly at the so-called cake.

He knew what a cake looked like…

The thing in her hand, was definitely not a cake.

“Er… are you certain, girl?” he asked.

Bulla was still smiling giddily. “Yes! It’s chocolate!”

He gulped. “And… to what do I owe the honor of receiving such a,” he stared in barely concealed disgust at the now evident mountain of pink sugar encased in a paper liner, “confection?”

“It’s for your birthday, Papa! Happy birthday!”

He looked down at the happy girl on his lap, before he looked back at the pastry and discreetly shook his head.

“Dammit, Bulma,” he muttered helplessly, running a hand though the dark flames of his hair.

A few years before Bulla had been born, Bulma had calculated astronomical anomalies until she had come up with a range of dates that she stated were when he was possibly born. She had then insisted on celebrating his supposed birth anniversary, every year since then.

The celebrations had been left entirely to her, since he usually left the Earth to go on training trips a few times a year, and was thus unable to accurately keep track of the Earthling calendar.

He had humored her, even though he had not been entirely convinced, since the days usually ended with what Bulma had called “birthday sex”, and he was not fool enough to pass on those.

He almost let a lecherous grin slip as he thought about how it was apparently _that_ time of year once again.

“What did you say, Papa?”

“Nothing, Eschallote,” he responded. He looked back at the cake, before he looked back at her again. “That is certainly a very… err, _interesting_ cake.”

“I made it!” Bulla said happily, before a small frown suddenly crossed her face. “Don’t you like it, Papa?”

“Doesn’t he like what, baby?” Bulma’s voice called out from across the room, and Vegeta turned to regard his wife, her blue hair in a neat bob that framed her pale cheeks and sky-hued eyes. He absently noticed the small candle in her hand, an electronic one that needed no flame but can be blown out with a gust of air like an ordinary candle.

Bulla immediately jumped off his lap, and cake still in hand, the tiny Bulma-clone flew off to her mother, gently launching herself into her arms.

“Mama, Papa doesn’t like my cake,” she whispered, and Vegeta blanched.

He stood straight, protesting, “I never said that-”

Bulma’s quiet glare, directed frostily at him, silenced him.

“Baby, I’m sure Papa liked your cake! After all, you made it just for his birthday!” she said.

“But he didn’t get it an’ eat it, Mama!” Bulla said as she disentangled herself from Bulma to stand, forlornly at her feet. “Papa eats things when he likes them, right?”

He was sure there was a dirty joke waiting in there somewhere, but he was too distressed to think about it.

Vegeta walked up to his girls then, and Bulma smiled her fakest possible smile at him as she said, “Nonsense, baby! Give it to Papa now. See? He came over to get the cake from you!”

He looked up at his _dear, beautiful wife_ , eyes begging for mercy, but instead, he heard her very softly whispered demand…

“Take the cupcake from Bulla, Papa.”

Bulla looked up at him, eyes watery as she began to sniffle.

He looked back at Bulma.

“But… Bulma…” he began to protest.

Her eyes narrowed, she lifted the small candle to point it threateningly at him and in an urgent, hushed voice, growled, “I will shove this candle down your throat, take the cupcake!”

Never before had Vegeta been simultaneously so insulted, terrified, and turned on.

Wasting no further time, he stooped down to be at eye-level with Bulla, and with a barely leashed sigh, said, “Give me the cake, Eschalotte.”

Bulla’s eyes were brimming with tears. “No. You don’t like it,” she whispered, holding the cake in both hands, close to her chest.

She was pouting… and Vegeta would kill himself before he admitted to how adorable he found it.

Instead, he sighed again. “I do want it, Eschalotte. Papa was just… surprised.”

Her tears evaporated as if by magic, and she grinned widely, holding the cake out to him again.

“Happy birthday, Papa!”

Vegeta held back a cringe as he took the cake from her tiny hands, and he glanced over his shoulder as he saw Bulma lean down as she placed the tiny candle into the very center, smack dab in the middle of the nauseatingly sweet icing.

“Now, make a wish, Papa,” Bulma said.

Looking between his two girls, Vegeta finally let a small grin lift the sides of his lips.

Closing his eyes, he made his wish…

_“I wish to always have the power to keep these two safe and happy… And Trunks too, I suppose.”_

He then opened his eyes, and with a smirk, blew out the candle.

The two girls cheered, and his mouth formed a small, genuine smile as he felt their arms wrap around him.

“Now,” Bulma said cheerfully, reaching up to take the candle, “Time to eat the cake, Papa!”

He nearly groaned.

Yet, as he looked down at his daughter’s expectant little face, he realized that he would happily eat much worse things, if it meant he could keep the innocent glee shining in her eyes forever.

Closing his eyes, he shoved the cupcake into his mouth, pulling the paper-wrapping off as he did.

As he chewed, he was pleasantly surprised.

It was not quite as bad as he had expected.

“Well, Papa? Did you like it?”

He looked at Bulla, nodded, and she immediately shrieked happily, floating into the air and throwing herself into his waiting arms.

“Papa liked my surprise!” she sang. “Wait until you see the one from Trunks, Papa!”

“From Trunks?”

As if on queue, the three of them jumped as a loud explosion sounded from the backyard.

Bulma sighed, placing a hand on his arm. “And that would be him.”

“Yay, Trunks’ surprise worked!” Bulla exclaimed, before she flew up and towards the kitchen, no doubt to see her brother.

Vegeta shook his head, a wry smile on his face as he turned to Bulma.

“I suppose I had better go and see the children,” he said, reaching up to squeeze her hand that still rested on his arm.

“Yeah, you do that,” she answered fondly. “My surprise for you can wait.”

He raised a brow. “You know that I hate surprises.”

“Oh, trust me, you’re gonna like _this_ one.”

“Mind giving me a clue?”

Vegeta watched as a wicked, teasing grin appeared on his lovely wife’s face, before she leaned closer, to whisper naughtily into his ear.

“Bulla said it earlier…” she said, suggestively running her fingers down his arm. “ _Papa eats things when he likes them.”_

Ah, _there_ was the joke he had been looking for earlier.

Unable to help himself, he leaned forward, giving Bulma a soft kiss on her pink lips, before he turned away to find his children.

This birthday-business really did have its perks, after all.

 


	14. Shush!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two silly teenagers get into a bit of trouble.
> 
> For a prompt posted in the VBO Discord by DBZBV1991.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I saw this prompt posted on the VBO Discord and I couldn't help myself! I wrote this in about 30mins, just a short and fluffy piece for y'all. I hope you like it!

“This way! Hurry!”

She wheezed, heart pounding painfully in her chest as she hurried to catch up. Her blue hair flew about her in a stream of chaotic waves, sky-hued eyes wide as saucers as she followed her partner-in-crime’s movements with her gaze.

He was much more athletic than her, and she, not for the first time that evening, questioned the wisdom of her decision to get in trouble in the first place.

“Bulma!” he whisper-yelled, running back towards her and grabbing her hand, a scowl twisting his face as he continued running, dragging her behind him.

“Wait, Vegeta-”

“No! Keep running!” he snarled.

She huffed, holding on to his hand tighter, linking her fingers with his in a desperate bid to siphon some of his speed and energy into her protesting arms and legs.

She wasn’t even watching where she was going anymore, just blindly following him, responding on autopilot as he pulled her with him.

His sudden turn into a corner she hadn’t even known was there made her squeal, and she felt a large hand clasp tightly over her mouth before his much larger body pressed hers back against a hard wall. She could feel his chest heave against her breasts, his breaths harsh and uncontrolled as he too panted for air. She quietly watched a bead of sweat that was making its way down his forehead, right below the sharp widow’s peak that fringed his wild, flame-like hair.

He was peeking out the narrow gap from where he had squeezed them into, his black eyes narrowed as he tried to assess how badly screwed they were. Bulma could hear the commotion as the two men who had been chasing them ran noisily after them, and she closed her eyes, crossing her fingers and hoping against hope that they wouldn’t be found.

The space was tight, and she tried hard not to move away from where his narrow, bony hips pressed almost painfully against hers. One hand was wrapped tightly around her waist, and the one pressed against her mouth began to loosen, moving back until it rested commandingly on her shoulder.

She opened her eyes, her gaze landing immediately on Vegeta’s panicked face, and before she could control herself, Bulma heard herself let out a soft, amused snort.

His eyes spun back to her, glaring warningly at her as he raised a finger to his lips, silently shushing her as the voices of their hunters came even closer.

“Where the hell are they?” one growled furiously.

“They’re not here! Must have gone straight to the square, those damn kids.”

They listened as the footsteps began to move farther, and as their noises dwindled to nothing, she felt a small giggle bubble up from the center of her chest, seeping out as her eyes crinkled in excitement.

Vegeta still had his finger up against his lips, but his glare had also started to fizzle out. She watched as his stern eyes began to narrow in amusement, and he shook his head as he tried and failed to hold in his incredulous chuckles.

“I can’t believe you threw paint at that woman,” he whispered disbelievingly, once again laying a hand on her shoulder, as if he can push her increasingly hysterical laughter back down into her chest.

“She had it coming,” she whispered back, grinning widely.

Her laughter died down into a gasp as she finally took a clearer look at their rather ridiculous situation.

They were pressed tightly against each other, his arms around her, his breaths blowing against her cheeks. Bulma’s gaze shifted helplessly from his eyes to his lips, watching as they parted gently as he sucked in air within the tight confines of their tiny hiding spot.

He stilled, and she realized that he too was staring avidly at her lips. Her heart nearly stopped as she felt him begin to move closer, his mouth a hair’s breadth away from hers. Her eyes began to drift closed, waiting… wanting…

 _CRASH_!

A loud banging sound from the alleyway made them push away from each other in shock, and Bulma blinked, watching Vegeta snap out of a daze, his eyes clearing as he looked back at her. His cheeks were flushed, and she could tell from the heat that she felt in her own cheeks that she must look just about the same.

He gulped loudly. “I- I think the coast is clear,” he stuttered. “We could… leave.”

She too swallowed, and she felt her gaze drift back longingly to his lips as she answered, “Yeah… we could.”

Neither moved an inch, and Bulma felt herself tremble when Vegeta shifted. Yet, instead of moving away, he pressed closer against her, his breaths mingling with hers as he splayed a large hand across the dip of her back.

“We could, yes,” he answered.

Bulma felt her breath hitch, less than a second before Vegeta made his move.

 


	15. Tired

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vegeta was exhausted. But he had never before been happier.  
> A short, post-DBS, Briefs family one-shot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This little ficlet was inspired by this [Twitter post](https://twitter.com/VEGETApsycho/status/1116407889374003200?s=09) by VEGETApsycho! Coz who could resist a haggard but still hot Vegeta, heeheehee!

“Dammit!”

Vegeta hissed irritably as he poured some fresh coffee into the first mug that he got his hands on.

He was absolutely dead on his feet, haggard… He could feel it in the sluggish movements of his limbs as he leaned exhaustedly against the kitchen counter, absently running his free hand through his thick hair. He breathed deeply, the earthy smell of his new favorite drink waking him enough to finally realize that he had poured his coffee into Bulma’s favorite mug.

Vegeta knew she would be rather _miffed_ at her mug’s misuse, but at the moment, he didn’t care. After all, he didn’t think he had ever been so… weary, before.

He was no stranger to strain. He thrived in pain, lived for the ripping sensation of his muscles screaming in protest, of his chest tightening in effort as he pulled in shallow gasps of breath while he pushed his body past its limits. He had trained in several universes, many strange and odd galaxies; he had faced hazardous conditions that no earthling would ever dream of even surviving.

He had been trained by angels, beaten up by gods and other immortal beings, and emerged none the worse for wear.

Thus, he never imagined that taking on a task that was so deceptively simple could zap all his strength away.

He slowly maneuvered himself to sit at the kitchen table, setting his drink down, careful to avoid even a whisper of a sound. The woman was tired as well, and she would shriek if he dared disturb her slumber.

He was just… so tired.

He leaned down, elbows resting heavily on the table, eyes drooping as a hot stream of coffee-scented air washed over his face.

Who knew that caring for a sick half-Saiyan child could be so taxing?

Bulla was running a fever, and Vegeta had forcibly appointed himself to take charge of her care. It was a strange enough anomaly, to have her be sick, that he had made Bulma step back. He was concerned that whatever their daughter may have caught could be communicable, and he was not willing to risk Bulma catching the disease. He took over, banking on his much more complex immune system to keep the disease from seeping into himself.

He may have gotten himself into quite a bind, as he never expected a sick child to be so needy. He had to constantly be at her side, or to be there to lull her in his arms until she finally fell into restless sleep. She was soiling herself far more frequently than usual, and he could hardly bear to look into the tear-filled blue eyes that were so like her mother’s, as the poor girl gasped for breath amidst the colds that clogged her little nose. His arms hurt from carrying and soothing her all day, but he was determined to be there, if only to lessen her suffering by at least a small margin.

It may have been penance, as well. He had barely been a father to Trunks when the boy had been at this age, and part of Vegeta’s perseverance came from his unspoken vow to atone for his foolish missteps.

He rubbed his eyes again, forcing himself to drink his scalding beverage, willing the powerful caffeine to do its damn job and keep him awake so he can be a good guardian to his daughter.

The soft footsteps coming from the doorway made him pause, and he placed the near-empty mug down as he turned his head. Sure enough, Bulma stood there, dressed in her white pajamas, blue hair mussed, eyes still narrowed from sleep. She was smiling, a hand resting against the doorframe as she regarded him.

She walked over when he sighed, a hesitant grin on his lips as he watched her pull up a chair to sit beside him. She didn’t speak, simply leaning an elbow down onto the table as she cupped her chin in her palm.

It was him who broke the silence, for once. “What are you doing up?”

Bulma shrugged. “I could ask you the same thing.” She reached forward to softly brush her hand across his cheek, and Vegeta knew that she was looking at the thick dark bags that ringed his eyes, the dimmed blackness of his irises.

“You should be sleeping,” he murmured, placing a hand against hers to trap her warm palm against his skin. The smoothness of her touch had always fascinated him, the softness of her touch a guilty pleasure that had comforted him even during the darkest of days.

“So should you,” she answered. “Bulla is asleep, and you have been working so hard. You need some rest, too.”

“I can handle it,” he said. “I am a warrior. I have been through much worse. This is nothing.”

“Vegeta, you look exhausted,” she observed. Her sleepy eyes roved over him in concern, pausing slightly on his aching arms.

He watched as a slow smirk suddenly began to curve his wife’s lips, and he quickly recognized the naughty gleam in her eyes. It was that suspicious sparkle that usually heralded her more vulgar actions, and he braced himself, already feeling his eyes begin to roll as she giggled.

“Although…” she drawled, her voice suddenly ringing with mischief as she moved to squeeze his bicep. “For someone who’s so tired, you still look _hot,_ babe!”

He huffed as she laughed, a smirk working its way to his mouth as he watched her. He found himself struck speechless once again by the rose of her cheeks, by the gleeful crinkles in the sides of her eyes, and Vegeta solemnly swore to himself for perhaps the millionth time that he would risk everything to make sure that she would always have reasons to smile.

He would see to it that she and their children would always be safe; that they would always thrive in the happiness that he had never been lucky enough to enjoy for almost his entire life before he somehow had them.

Vegeta reached out, easily lifting Bulma off her chair and onto his lap. She hummed, wrapping her arms around his neck as she snuggled in, resting her head against his chest as she curled into him.

“Come to bed,” she murmured, her lips brushing softly over the skin left bare by his loose shirt.

“I need to get back to Bulla-”

“She is asleep, and she is going to be fine,” Bulma reassured, and he verily melted around her when he felt her place a gentle kiss on his chest, right over his heart.

“Are you certain?”

She nodded, looking up to gaze into his eyes. “I’m sure. Her fever has already gone down as of our last reading. She is getting much better, thanks to you.”

“I wish to be a good father to our daughter,” he confessed reluctantly, lips tight as he touched them to her forehead. “I could never take back the way I had been with Trunks, but this time…”

“You have more than made up for it, Vegeta,” she said. “Our children adore you. Maybe almost as much as I do.”

He grinned again at her words, pulling back slightly to regard her. Her eyes sparkled at him, hopeful and happy, and he knew then that as always, he could deny her nothing.

“Perhaps I can do with some rest,” he conceded. “I could stand to close my eyes for a short while.”  
Bulma beamed, climbing off his lap to stand before him. She held out her hand, an undeniable look of love shining brightly on her face.

Vegeta did not even hesitate. With a small smile of his own, which he hoped showed her the feelings that he rarely ever said, he took her hand.  



End file.
